The words “quite ready” are no sooner whispered, than the operator, grasping firmly with his left hand the flesh which forms the front part of the patient’s thigh, thrusts quietly and deliberately the sharp blade horizontally through the limb, from its outer to its inner side, so that the thigh is transfixed a little above its central axis, and in front of the bone. He next cuts directly downwards, in the plane of the limb, for about four inches, and then obliquely outwards, so as to form a flap, which is seized and turned upwards out of the way by the appointed assistant. A similar transfixion is again made, commencing at the same spot, but the knife is this time carried behind the bone; a similar incision follows, and another flap is formed and held away as before. Lastly, with a rapid circular sweep round the bone he divides all left uncut; and handing the knife to an assistant, who takes it, and gives a saw in return, the operator divides the bone with a few workmanlike strokes, and the limb is severed from the body. A rustling sound of general movement and deeper breathing is heard among the lookers-on, who have followed with straining and critical eyes every act which has contributed to the accomplishment of the task; and some one of the younger students is heard to whisper to his neighbour, “Five and thirty seconds: not bad, by Jove!”
The operator now seats himself on the stool just vacated by the dresser, who has carried away the leg, and seeks in the cut surfaces before him the end of the main artery on which to place a ligature. There is no flow of blood, only a little oozing, for the tourniquet holds life’s current hard and fast. Only five minutes’ uncontrolled flow of the current from that great artery now so perfectly compressed, and our patient’s career in this world would be closed for ever. How is it permanently held in check? and what have we to substitute now for the hissing, sparkling, and sputtering iron, and the boiling pitch? The operator takes hold of the cut end of the artery with a slender, delicately made pair of forceps, and draws it out a little, while an assistant passes round the end so drawn out a ligature of exceedingly fine whipcord, fine but strong, and carefully ties it there with double knot, and so effectually closes the vessel. A similar process is applied to perhaps six or seven other but smaller vessels, the tourniquet is removed, and no bleeding ensues. Altogether the patient has lost little more than half-a-pint of blood! The flaps are placed in apposition, the bone is well covered by them, a few stitches are put through their edges, some cool wet lint is applied all around the stump, and the patient, slumbering peacefully, is carried off to a comfortable bed ready prepared in some adjacent ward. Half an hour hence that patient will regain consciousness, and probably the first observation he makes will be, “I am quite ready for the operation, when is it going to begin?” And it takes no little repetition of the assurance that all is over to make him realize the happy truth.
So it is that he who loses the limb knows less about the process than any one concerned; infinitely less, my gentle reader, than you who have shared with us the quiet corner, and have seen all without losing consciousness, or fainting. It was an early day in the medical session, and many new men were there; one at least was observed to become very—very pale, and then slowly disappear: no one knows how or where, for neither we in the area nor those elsewhere had leisure or care to inquire.
What might have happened to somebody else had he been witness before these blessed days of chloroform, can, in the nature of things, be only a matter for speculation. It may even be surmised by some theorist, and without hazarding a very improbable guess, that a similar catastrophe might, perhaps, under such aggravating circumstances, and at a greener age, have rendered utterly futile, on his part, any attempt to describe what modern skill and science now accomplish in cutting off the leg of a patient Under Chloroform.
The How and Why of Long Shots and Straight Shots.
On a windy, unpleasant day in 1746, a great mathematician and philosopher was exhibiting to a select company in the gardens of the Charterhouse his skill in shooting round a corner with a bent gun-barrel. If he had requested the editor of the Cornhill Magazine of the day to publish his experiments, it is probable that he would have been refused. Now, when every morning paper informs us at breakfast, in its best type, of how far off we may be killed, and the evening papers analyze the same with the commencement of a hot debate on the French Treaty, to give us a pleasing subject for our dreams, we think that perhaps our unprofessional readers may like to know the how and the why of these far-reaching organs of peace on earth and good-will among faithful allies.
Supposing, then, reader—for it is to such that this article is addressed—that you are wholly ignorant of the science of gunnery, and of its principal establisher, Benjamin Robins, and have, therefore, been laughing at him, the poor silly philosopher,—if you will read the following extract from his work on Gunnery, you will see that if he did a foolish thing, he certainly sometimes wrote a wise one:—“I shall, therefore, close this paper with predicting that whatever State shall thoroughly comprehend the nature and advantages of rifled-barrel pieces, and, having facilitated and completed their construction, shall introduce into their armies their general use, with a dexterity in the management of them, they will by this means acquire a superiority which will almost equal anything that has been done at any time by the particular excellence of any one kind of arms; and will, perhaps, fall but little short of the wonderful effects which histories relate to have been formerly produced by the first inventors of fire-arms.”
Now to our distinguished countryman, Mr. Benjamin Robins, is due the credit of having first pointed out the reasons why smooth bores—and smooth bore is now almost as great a term of reproach with us rifle volunteers as dog is with a Turk—were constantly, in fact, universally, in the habit of shooting round corners, and the experiment mentioned was only a means of bringing the fact more strikingly before the obtuse faculties of the Royal Society, whom we may imagine to have been intense admirers of brown-bess—also now a term of reproach in constant use. Mr. Robins did more; he pointed out the advantage of elongated rifle bullets; showed us how to determine—and partially, as far as his limited means permitted, himself determined—the enormous resistance of the atmosphere to the motion of projectiles; in fact, smoothed the way for all our present discoveries; and, treason though it be to say so, left the science of gunnery much as we have it now. Though principally from increased mechanical powers of construction, better material and improved machinery, we have advanced considerably in the Art or practice of destruction.