It was the pride of the surgeon's life that he was born on the same day as the Great Conqueror, and this coincidence was also the cause of several of his important experiences. But his pride and ambition were of a mild and good-tempered kind, and quite different from the powerful desires which can force their way through a thousand obstacles to attain an exalted position. How often does the famous one count all the victims who have bled for his glory on the battlefield, all the tears, all the human misery through which his way leads to an illusionary greatness, perhaps, doomed to last a few centuries at most?
The surgeon used to say that he was a great rogue in his childhood; but exhibiting good intelligence, he was sent by a wealthy uncle to a school in Vasa.
At eighteen, with a firkin of butter in a wagon, and seventeen thalers in his purse, he went to Abo to pass his examination. This well accomplished, he was at liberty to strive for the gown and surplice of an ecclesiastic. But his thoughts wandered far too often from his Hebrew Codex to the square where the troops frequently assembled.
"Oh!" thought he, "if I were only a soldier, standing there in the ranks, and ready to fight like my father, for king and country."
But his mother had placed an emphatic veto on the matter, and exacted a solemn promise from him that he would never become a warrior.
Before, however, he was through Genesis, an incident suddenly occurred which completely altered his good intentions. This was an announcement in the daily paper from the Medical Faculty, which stated that students who wished to take service as surgeons during the war could present themselves for private medical instruction, after which they could reckon upon being ordered out with five or six thalers per month to begin with, as the war was at its height.
Now, young Bäck would no longer be denied; he wrote home that as a surgeon's duty is to take off the limbs of others, without losing his own, he wished to volunteer. After some trouble he received the desired permission. In a moment the Codex was thrown away. He did not learn, he devoured surgery, and in a few months was as capable a chirurgeon as most others; for in those times they were not very particular.
Our youthful surgeon was in the land campaigns of 1788 and 1789; but in 1790 at sea; was in many a hard battle, drank prodigiously (according to his own account), and cut off legs and arms wholesale in a most skilful way. He then knew nothing about the coincidence of his birth with Napoleon's, and therefore did not yet consider himself as under a lucky star. He often told the story of the eventful 3rd of July in Wiborg Bay, when on board the "Styrbjörn" with Stedingk, at the head of the fleet, they passed the enemy's battery at Krosserort's Point, and he was struck by a splinter on the right cheek, and carried the mark to his grave. The same shot which caused this wound wrought great havoc in the ship, and whizzing by the admiral's ear, made him stone-deaf for a time; Bäck with his lancet and palsy drops restored Stedingk's hearing in three minutes. Just then the danger was greatest and the balls flew thick as hail.
The vessel ran aground.
"Boys, we are lost," cried a voice.