“Read the deposition to the accused.”
A moment afterwards, when this formality had been fulfilled, the
magistrate and the old doctor left the room. The former looked extremely
grave, and said,--
“You were right, doctor; that man is a murderer. The so-called friend,
whose name he would not tell us, is no other person than the rascal
whose tool he is. And I mean to get that person’s name out of him, if
M. Champcey recovers, and will give me the slightest hint. Therefore,
doctor, nurse your patient.”
To recommend Daniel to the surgeon was at least superfluous. If the old
original was inexorable, as they said on board ship, for those lazy ones
who pretended to be sick for the purpose of shirking work, he was all
tenderness for his real patients; and his tenderness grew with the
seriousness of their danger. He would not have hesitated a moment
between an admiral who was slightly unwell, and the youngest midshipman
of the fleet who was dangerously wounded. The admiral might have waited
a long time before he would have left the midshipman,--an originality
far less frequent than we imagine.
It would have been enough, therefore, for Daniel to be so dangerously
wounded. But there was something else besides. Like all who had ever
sailed with Daniel, the surgeon, also, had conceived a lively interest
in him, and was filled with admiration for his character. Besides that,
he knew that his patient alone could solve this great mystery, which
puzzled him exceedingly.
Unfortunately, Daniel’s condition was one of those which defy all
professional skill, and where all hope depends upon time, nature, and
constitution. To try to question him would have been absurd; for he
had so far continued delirious. At times he thought he was on board
his sloop in the swamps of the Kamboja; but most frequently he imagined
himself fighting against enemies bent upon his ruin. The names of Sarah
Brandon, Mrs. Brian, and Thomas Elgin, were constantly on his lips,
mixed up with imprecations and fearful threats.
For twenty days he remained so; and for twenty days and twenty nights
his “man,” Baptist Lefloch, who had caught the murderer, was by his
bedside, watching his slightest movement, and ever bending over him
tenderly. Not one of those noble daughters of divine wisdom, whom we
meet in every part of the globe, wherever there is a sick man to nurse,
could have been more patient, more attentive, or more ingenious, than
this common sailor. He had put off his shoes, so as to walk more softly;
and he came and went on tiptoe, his face full of care and anxiety,
preparing draughts, and handling with his huge bony hands, with
laughable, but almost touching precautions, the small phials out of
which he had to give a spoonful to his patient at stated times.
“I’ll have you appointed head nurse of the navy, Lefloch,” said the old
surgeon.