Once in the ward-room I understood in a single instant what might be the horrors of war, better than I could have done by remaining on deck the full day.
The scene in this place, which was separated from the terrible tumult above only by the deck-planking, was more horrible than can be described in mere words.
The groans, the prayers of the dying, and the bustling to and fro of the surgeon and his assistants, all combined to make a noise more terrifying than the roar of the guns and the crashing of timbers.
The hue of blood everywhere, the cutting of human flesh, or the probing of ghastly wounds, sickened me until never again can I be brought to believe that there is anything noble or grand in warfare.
Even as we laid old Silas, now unconscious from loss of blood, upon one of the rough tables whereon were shreds of flesh and fragments of bone, a shot came crashing into the brig’s side, tearing a passage straight through this place of torment, and releasing from their misery two poor fellows who had suffered the tortures of the amputating knife.
One of the surgeon’s assistants was wounded by the same shot, but Dr. Parsons gave his attention first to old Silas, and in answer to Alec’s eager question replied:—
“The wound is not necessarily fatal, lad. On shore I would say the man had every chance for recovery; but, unfortunately, he cannot have here such care as is needed.”
I would have lingered by the old gunner’s side, for I had come to look upon him as a friend, and it cut me to the heart that he might go out of the world without a word of farewell; but Alec forced me to accompany him.
“We are needed on deck, and by loitering here may lay ourselves open to a charge of cowardice.”
Heaven knows there was no desire in my mind to loiter in that horrible place! I had lingered only in the hope the old gunner might revive sufficiently to give me at least a last word.