NIGHT LANDING--CARRYING A WOUNDED PERSON--SETTING ONE’S OWN LIMBS WHEN
BROKEN--SPLINTING A LIMB--REST TO THE WEARY
It was a picturesque scene as the raft drew near shore. The soft
moonlight upon the bluff--the faint sparkle of the briny water broken by
the oars--the lurid light from the resinous fire--the dark shadows and
excited movements of Mary and Frank--formed altogether a group worthy of
a painter’s skill.
Frank could scarcely be restrained from rushing through the water to
welcome the new comer; but when he heard how weak he was, and in what
bad condition, he waited in quietness. Harold took him in his arms, and
Robert made a stepping place for Mary with the oars, and they both shook
hands with the poor fellow, and told him how sorry they were to see him
so badly hurt.
Leaving Harold and Frank at the raft, Robert and Mary hastened to the
tent to prepare a place for the invalid, that he need not be disturbed
after being once removed. They lit a candle, piled the trunks in a
corner of the room, and taking most of the moss that constituted their
beds, laid it in another corner, remarking, "We can easily obtain more;
or we can even sleep on the ground tonight, if necessary, for his sake."
"I wish we had an old door, or even a plank long enough for him to lie
upon, as we bring him from the raft," said Robert, "it would be so much
easier to his broken bones, if they could be kept straight. But the
blanket is next best, and with that we must be content."
By the time the transfer was completed, the boys were exceedingly weary,
having been disturbed all the preceding night, and engaged in vigorous
and incessant effort ever since they arose from their short sleep. They
sat for half an hour revelling in the luxury of rest. Sam appeared to
suffer so much and to be so weak, that they discouraged him from
talking, and took their own seats outside the tent, that he might be
able to sleep.
"What have you done with the fawn, sister?" inquired Robert, willing to
divert their minds from the painful thoughts that were beginning to
follow the excitement of hearing from home.
"O, we fed it with sassafras leaves and grass," said she, "and gave it
water. After that we sewed the torn skin to its place upon the neck,
and it appears to be doing very well."
"You are quite a surgeon, cousin Mary," Harold remarked. "I think we
shall have to call you our ’Sister of Mercy.’ If, however, our
handkerchiefs are still tied to it, I will suggest that it may be best
for it, as well as for us, that you make a soft pad for its neck, and
put on the dog’s collar."
"We have done that already," she replied. "I thought of it as soon as
we returned to the tent and saw the dog’s chain. But as for my being a
surgeon, it requires very little skill to know that the sooner a fresh
wound is attended to, and the parts brought to the right place for
healing the better."
"That is a fact," said Robert, starting, as a deep groan from the tent
reached his ears; "and that reminds me that perhaps Sam is suffering at
this moment for the want of having his bones set. We must attend to
them at once."
"Set a broken arm and leg!" exclaimed Harold in surprise. "Why, Robert,
do you know how to do it?"
"Certainly," he replied. "There is no mystery about it; and father, you
know, teaches us children everything of the kind, as soon as we are able
to learn it. I have never set the bones of a _person_, but I did once
of a dog, and succeeded very well."
Harold asked him to describe the process. Robert replied, "If the bones
appear to have moved from their proper place, all that you have to do is
to pull them apart lengthways by main strength so that they will
naturally slide together, or else can be made to do so by the pressure
of your hand. Then you must bandage the limb with strips of cloth,
beginning at its extremity, so as to keep the parts in place; and over
this you must bind a splint, to keep the bone from being bent or jostled
out of place. That is all."
They went into the tent, and made inquiry of Sam whether his bones did
not need attention. He replied that maybe his leg was in need of
setting, but that as for his arm he had _sot_ that himself, and that it
was in need only of splintering.
"You set it yourself! Why, how did you manage that?" inquired Robert.
"You remember, Mas Robbut, I bin hab my arm broke once befo’e; so I
knowed jes what to do," replied Sam, and then he went on to describe his
process. He said that finding the bones out of place, he had tied the
hand of his broken arm to a root of the cedar, and strained himself back
until the bones were able to pass, when he pressed them into place by
means of his well hand.
After that he tore some strips from his clothing, and tied the hand over
his breast, at the same time stuffing his bosom full of moss, to keep
the bone straight, and over all passing a bandage, to keep the arm
against his side. He had made a similar attempt to set the bone of his
leg, but it pained him so much that he had given up the attempt.
On examination, Robert learned that the arm was broken between the elbow
and shoulder, and that the leg was fractured between the knee and ankle.
"The leg," said he, "is safe enough. Below the knee are two bones, and
only one of these is broken. Would you like to have the bandage and
splints put on your arm tonight?"
Sam replied that he was sure he should sleep better if Mas Robert was
not too tired to attend to it, for he would be "mighty onrestless" while
his bones were in that "fix."
The wearied boy pondered a moment, and asked his sister to tear one of
the sheets or table-cloths into strips about as wide as her three
fingers, and to sew the ends together, to make a bandage five or six
yards long, while he and Harold prepared the splints. They then went to
the palmetto tree, half a mile distant, and selecting one of the
broadest and straightest of its flat, polished limbs, returned to the
tent, and produced from it a lath about the length of the arm. Having
bandaged the limb from the finger-ends to the shoulder, they bound it to
this splint, which extended from the armpit to the extremity, and Robert
pronounced the operation complete.
Sam was profuse in his praise of Robert’s surgery, bestowing upon it
every conceivable term of laudation, and seeming withal to be truly
grateful. "Tankee, Mas Robert! Tankee, Mas Harold! Tankee, my dear
little misses! Tankee, Mas Frank too! Tankee, ebbery body! I sure I
bin die on dat sand-bank, ’sept you all bin so kind to de poor nigger."
"No more of that, Sam," said Robert, "you were hurt in trying to help
us; it is but right we should help you."
At the close of this scene, the young people prepared for bed. It was
past ten o’clock, and they were sadly in need of rest; but so strongly
had their sympathies been excited for their black friend, that even
little Frank kept wide awake, waiting his turn to be useful. When,
however, their work was done, and they had lain down to rest, they
needed no lullaby to hush them into slumber. Within twenty minutes after
the light was extinguished, and during the livelong night, nothing was
to be heard in that tent but the hard breathing of the wearied sleepers.
Thanks to God for sleep! None but the weary know its blessedness.