It is a curious coincidence that, about the very time when my servant
was appointed to serve in the Turkish Ambulance Corps, I received
permission to act as a surgeon in the Russian army. Through the
influence of Nicholas Naranovitsch, I was attached to his own regiment,
and thus enjoyed the pleasure of his society for a considerable time
after the breaking out of the war.
I preferred this course to that of returning home, because, first, I
could not bear the thought of leaving the country without making every
possible exertion to ascertain the fate of my yacht's crew, and
rendering them succour if possible; and, secondly, because I felt an
irresistible desire to alleviate, professionally, the sufferings of
those who were certain to be wounded during the war. I also experienced
much curiosity to know something more of the power and influence of
modern war-engines. Perhaps some people will think this latter an
unworthy motive. It may have been so; I cannot tell. All I can say is
that it was a very secondary one, and would not, of itself, have been
sufficient to induce me to remain for an hour to witness the horrors and
carnage of battle-fields. Still, putting the various motives together,
I felt justified in remaining.
In order that I might render still more effective service to the cause
of humanity, I wrote, immediately after my appointment as surgeon, to an
intimate friend, north of the Tweed, offering my services as war
correspondent to a paper of which he was editor, namely, the _Scottish
Bawbee_.
That celebrated journal,--well known on the east, west, and north coasts
of Scotland, and extensively circulated in the centre and south of the
country, including England,--is liberal in its principles, conservative
in reference only to things that are good, and violently radical when
treating of those that are bad. It enjoys the credit of being curt in
its statements, brief in the expression of its opinions, perfectly
silent in reference to its surmises, distinctly repudiative of the gift
of prophecy, consistently averse to the attribution of motives,
persistently wise in giving the shortest possible account of murders and
scandalous cases, and copious in its references to literature, art, and
religious progress, besides being extremely methodical in its
arrangement.
In regard to the latter quality, I cannot refrain from referring to its
sensible mode of treating births, marriages, and deaths, by putting the
Christian and surname of the born, married, or defunct as the _first_
words in each announcement, so that one's digestion at breakfast is
aided by reading with some comfort of the joys and sorrows of one's
friends, instead of having incipient dyspepsia engendered by a painful
search for the main facts in confusing sentences.
The editor's reply came by return of post. It contained the acceptance
of my services, and a proposal of extremely liberal terms, allowing me,
besides a handsome retaining fee, two horses, and such travelling
attendants as might be found necessary. There were also certain
emphatic stipulations which are worth recording. I was not, on any
pretext whatever, to attempt the divination, much less the revelation,
of the future. I was never, upon any consideration, to be seduced into
lengthy descriptions of things that I did not see, or minute particulars
about matters which I did not know. I was utterly to ignore, and refuse
to be influenced by, personal predilections or prejudices in regard to
either combatant. I was to say as little about scenery as was
consistent with a correct delineation of the field of war, and never to
venture on sentimental allusions to sunsets, moonlights, or
water-reflections of any kind. I was not to forget that a newspaper was
a vehicle for the distribution of news, the announcement of facts and
the discussion thereof, not a medium for the dissemination of fancies
and fiddlededee. Above all, I was never to write a column and a half of
speculation as to the possible and _probable_ movements of armies; to be
followed "in our next" by two columns of the _rumoured_ movements of
armies; to be continued "in our next" by two columns and a half of the
_actual_ movements of armies; to wind up "in our next" with three
columns of retrospective consideration as to what might, could, would,
or _should_ have been the movements of armies; but that I was, on the
contrary, to bear in remembrance the adage about "brevity" being the
"soul of wit," and, when I had nothing to write, to write nothing. By
so doing, it was added, I should please the editor and charm the public,
one of whose minor griefs is, as regards newspapers, that it is brought
into a state of disgust with every event of this life long before it has
happened, and thoroughly nauseated with it long after it is past,--to
say nothing of the resulting mental confusion.
In case any gentleman of the press should feel injured by these
statements, I must remind him that I am not responsible for them. They
are the sentiments of the _Scottish Bawbee_, which must be taken for
what they are worth. It is true, I heartily agree with them, but that
is an entirely different subject, on which I do not enter.
I readily agreed to fall in with the wishes of the editor, and
thenceforward devoted myself, heart and soul, to correspondence and
surgery. In both fields of labour I found ample scope for all the
powers of body and mind that I possessed.
Just about this time I received a letter from my dear mother, who was
aware of my plans. It cost me some anxiety, as it was utterly
impossible that I should comply with the injunctions it contained.
"Jeffry, my dear boy," she wrote, "let me entreat you, with all the
solemnity of maternal solicitude, to take care of your health. Let
Russians and Turks kill and expose themselves as they please, but ever
bear in remembrance that it is your duty to avoid danger. Whatever you
do, keep your feet dry and your--I need not go further into particulars;
medical allusions cannot always be couched in language such as one
desires. Never sleep on damp ground, nor, if possible, without a roof
or a covering of some sort over your head. Even a parasol is better
than nothing. If, despite your precautions, you should catch cold, tie
a worsted sock--one of the red and black striped ones I have knitted for
you--round your neck, and take one drop of aconite--only one, remember--
before going to bed. I know how, with your allopathic notions, you will
smile at this advice, but I assure you, as your mother, that it will
prove an infallible cure. Never sit in a draught when you can avoid it.
If you ever come under fire, which I trust you never may, be sure to
get behind a house, or a wall, or a stone, if possible; if you cannot do
so, get behind a soldier, one larger than yourself would be preferable
of course, but if you have not the opportunity of doing this, then turn
your side to the enemy, because in that position you are a much narrower
target, and more likely to escape their bullets. I need not caution you
not to run away. I would rather see you, dear boy, in a premature
grave, than hear that you had run away. But you _could not_ run away.
No Childers ever did so--except from school.
"Let the phial of globules which I gave you at parting be your bosom
friends, till their friendship is required in another and a lower
region. They are a sovereign remedy against rheumatism, catarrh,
bronchitis, dyspepsia, lumbago, nervous affections, headaches, loss of
memory, debility, monomania, melancholia, botherolia, theoretica, and,
in short, all the ills that flesh is heir to, if only taken in time."
It struck me, as I folded my mother's letter and that of the editor,
that there never was a man who went into any course of action better
guarded and advised than myself. At the moment when this thought
occurred to me, my friend Nicholas burst into my room in a state of
unusual excitement.
"Come, Jeff," he said, "I'm detailed for another secret duty. People
seem to have inordinate faith in me, for all my duties are secret! Are
you willing to go with me?"
"Go where?" I asked.
"That I may not tell," he replied; "anywhere, or nowhere, or everywhere.
All I can say is, that if you go, it will be to act as surgeon to a
squadron of cavalry. I see you have letters. Good news from home--eh?
What of Bella?"
"Yes" I replied, "good news and good advice--listen."