“There are some handsome weapons in that collection?” said the host.
“They appear most valuable,” I replied. “I am not a judge of foreign arms; but I see some English guns of beautiful workmanship.” Mr. Hartley passed these lightly by; but taking down a sabre and pistols, he examined them with marked attention. The latter he replaced, but retained the sabre in his hand.
“Is that sword a valuable one?” My host started. I felt my face flush. Had I again committed mischief? But Mr. Hartley, on this score, relieved me speedily.
“You ask me is this sabre valuable? It is invaluable. The blade is of the purest Damascene. Observe its beautiful tracery; and its temper is so exquisite, that, without indenting its own edge to the extent of a pin’s point, I could have once shorn that bar of iron in twain,”—and he pointed to the grate. A knock was heard at the door. “It is Dominique—Come in.”
As he spoke, a new and very remarkable personage presented himself. He was a negro of uncommon height; and if his shape could be relied on, of herculean strength. His limbs, though too heavy to be graceful, were finely moulded; his shoulders square, his breast ample. He wore a light jacket and loose trowsers, and was provided with a china basin, some phials, and a napkin.
“Now,” said Mr. Hartley, “for our operations. Dominique, assist this gentleman, remove his coat, and bare his shoulders.”
The negro obeyed, and I submitted to examination.
“Upon my word, you have made little ado about what might have been a serious injury. Your back and arms are extensively contused, the whole surface is bruised, and the skin discoloured. Come, we shall take a little blood, and then embrocate the parts affected.”
I felt inclined to demur against submitting to phlebotomy, but mine was no common doctor. The negro bound my arm, produced a lancet, opened a vein with great adroitness, while his master overlooked the operation, until he thought that I had lost a sufficiency of blood. After a copious depletion, Dominique lubricated my back with some oily substance; and, having ascertained that all was correctly done, he assisted me to bed; while his master bade me a friendly good night, quitted the room, and both left me “alone in my glory.”
What a “whirligig world” we live in! I was but one day fairly flown upon it, and what a medley of adventure had it not produced! In the morning, starting full of “gay hope,” and for the first time master of myself; in the evening, captive of a gang of ruffians, who, in drunken barbarity, would have consigned me to the bottom of the lake, with less compunction than that with which a school-boy drowns a kitten. At night, inmate of a strange mansion, doubtfully received, half rejected afterwards, and now domesticated, as if I had been undoubted heir to every barren hill in view. All this was passing strange; and, lost “in wild conjecture,” and unable to read riddles, I betook myself quietly to sleep.