“His hand is cold and clammy, and there’s not a single thump in his arteries,” he said with solemn gravity; and letting fall Larry’s hand he proceeded to examine his neck. “The vertebra broken, cracked, dislocated,” he continued, in the same solemn tone. “D’ye see this black mark down his throat? it’s amply sufficient to account for death. I hereby certify that this is a corpse before me, and authorise that he may be sent home to his friends for Christian burial.”
“Och ahone! och ahone!” I cried out, throwing myself by the side of the mattress. “Is Larry really dead? Oh, doctors dear, can’t both of you put your heads together and try to bring him to life again?”
“When the breath is out of the body, ’tis more than all the skill of the most learned practitioners can accomplish,” exclaimed Doctor Murphy, rising from his knees. “I pronounce the boy dead, and no power on earth can bring him round again.”
“I hold to the contrary opinion,” said Mr O’Shea, advancing and drawing out of his pocket a case of instruments, from which he produced a large operation knife, and began to strop it on the palm of his hand. “It’s fortunate for the boy that he didn’t move, or Doctor Murphy would have been thrusting one of his big boluses down his throat and drenched him with black draughts. Stand aside, friends, and you shall see that a surgeon’s skill is superior to a doctor’s knowledge. I have your leave, sir, to proceed as I consider necessary?” he asked, turning to the major.
“Certainly,” answered my uncle; “if Doctor Murphy considers him dead and you believe him to be alive, and act accordingly, I have more hopes in the results of your skill than in that of the other gentleman.”
“You’ll remain in town some time, sir, I presume, and as you’re a gentleman, I shall expect a visit from you,” exclaimed the fat doctor, as, nearing the door, he made a bow, and, gold cane in hand, waddled out of the room.
Mr O’Shea cast a contemptuous glance at him, and then kneeling down, applied his knife to the nape of Larry’s neck. Warm blood immediately spouted forth. “I told you so,” he exclaimed; “blood doesn’t flow like this from a corpse. Bring hot water and cloths.” These he applied to Larry’s neck, and continued to pour the water on them, “to draw out the blood,” as he said, and relieve the patient’s head. Then pressing his knees against Larry’s shoulders, he gave a pull at his head which seemed likely to dislocate his neck, if it hadn’t been broken already.
As he did this, he exclaimed, “There now, I have taken the twists out, and the boy will be all to rights in the course of an hour.”
A groan and a heavy sigh proclaimed that there was still life in poor Larry. Presently he opened one eye and then the other, and some spoonfuls of whisky and water, which Surgeon O’Shea poured down his throat, contributed still further to revive him.
In the course of half-an-hour Larry asked in a low voice, “Did yer beat back the O’Sullivans, yer honour? shure they were coming after us at a mighty great rate, and I fancy some one of them gave me a whack on the crown which brought me to the ground.”