AN INVALIDING SUIT--THE CARDS WELL PLAYED, AND BY A TRUMP--THE ODD
TRICK, HOWEVER, IN MUCH DANGER--THE DOCTOR FINESSES WITH A GOOD HEART,
BUT DIAMONDS ARE CUTTING ARTICLES.
Two days had elapsed after my incursions upon the "wild Irishers,"
during which our surgeon had kept himself closely to his cabin, when he
wrote a letter on service to the captain, requesting a survey upon his
self-libelled rotundity of body. The captain, according to the laws of
the service, "in that case made and provided," forwarded the letter to
the port-admiral, who appointed the following day for the awful
inspection. As I said before, the skipper and his first-lieutenant had
laid down a scheme of a counter-plot, and they now began to put it into
execution. Immediately that Dr Thompson had received his answer, he
began to dose himself immoderately with tartarised antimony and other
drugs, to give his round and hitherto ruddy countenance the pallor of
disease. He commenced getting up his invaliding suit.
It had been a great puzzle to his brother officers, to understand what
two weasan-faced mechanical-looking men, from the shore, had been doing
in his cabin the greater part of the night. They did not believe, as
the doctor intimated, that they were functionaries of the law, taking
instructions for his last will and testament; though the astute surgeon
had sent a note to Mr Farmer, the first-lieutenant, with what he
thought infinite cunning, to know, in case of anything fatal happening
immediately to the writer, whether his friend would prefer to have
bequeathed to him the testator's double-barrelled fowling piece, or his
superb Manton's duelling-pistols. Mr Farmer replied, "that he would
very willingly take his chance of both."
At twelve o'clock everything was ready. The survey was to take place in
the captain's cabin. Dr Thompson sends for his two assistants, and
then, for the first time for three days, he emerges, leaning heavily
upon both his supporters.
Can this be the jovial and rubicund doctor? Whose deadly white face is
that, that peers out from under the shadow of an immense green shade?
The lips are livid--the corners of the mouth drawn down--and yet there
is a triumphant sneer in their very depression. The officers gather
round him, he lifts up his head slowly, and then looks round and shakes
it despondingly. His eyes are dreadfully bloodshot. His mess-mates,
the young ones especially, begin to think that his illness is real.
There is the real sympathy of condolence in the greetings of all but the
hard-a-weather master, the witty purser, and the obdurate first. The
invalid was apparelled in an ancient roast-beef uniform coat,
bottle-green from age; the waistcoat had flaps indicative of fifty
years' antiquity, and the breeches were indescribable. He wore large
blue-worsted stockings folded up outside above the knee, but carefully
wrinkled and disordered over the calf of the leg, in order to conceal
its healthy mass of muscle. Big as was the doctor, his clothes were
all, as Shakespeare has it, "a world too big," though we cannot finish
the quotation by adding, "for his shrunk shank." Instead of two
lawyers' clerks, the sly rogue had had two industrious snips closeted
with him, for the purpose of enlarging this particular suit of clothes
to the utmost.
"In the name of ten thousand decencies, doctor," exclaimed Mr Farmer,
"who made you that figure?"
"Disease," was the palsied and sepulchral reply.
"But the clothes--the clothes--these incomprehensible clothes?"
"Are good enough to die in."
"But I doubt," said the purser, "whether either they or their wearer be
good enough to die."
There was a laugh, but it was not infectious as respected the occasion
of it. He shook his head mournfully, and said, "The flippancy of rude
health--the inconsiderate laugh of strong youth!"
With much difficulty he permitted himself to be partly carried up the
ladder, and seated in all the dignity of suffering, in a chair in the
fore-cabin, the two assistants standing, one on each side of him, in
mute observation.
It is twelve o'clock--half-past twelve--one--two. The captain is coming
on board--tell the officers--the side is manned--the boatswain pipes--
and the little great man arrives, and, attended by Mr Farmer, enters
the cabin. Prepared as he was for a deception, even he starts back with
surprise at the figure before him.
With one hand upon a shoulder of each of his assistants, the doctor,
with an asthmatical effort, rises.
"Well, doctor, how are you?"
The doctor shook his head.
"Matters have gone a great length, I see."
Another shake, eloquent with suffering and despondency.
"I understand from my friend here" (Mr Farmer and he _were_ friends
sometimes for half an hour together), "that with Christian providence
you have been making your will. Now, my dear doctor, it is true, that
we have hardly been three months associated; but that time, short as it
is, has given me the highest opinion of your convivial qualities, your
professional skill, and the great _depth_ of your understanding. Deep--
very deep! You must not class me among the mean herd of legacy-hunters;
but I would willingly have some token by which to remember so excellent
a man, and an officer so able, and so _unshrinking_ in the performance
of his duties."
"There is my tobacco-box," said the doctor with feeble malice; "for
though chewing the weed cannot cure, it can conceal a bad breath."
The captain winced. It was a thrust with a double-edged sword. He was
what we now call, an exquisite, in person, and one to whom the idea of
chewing tobacco was abhorrent, whilst he was actually and distressingly
troubled with the infirmity hinted at. For a moment, the suavity of his
manner was destroyed, and he forgot the respect due to the dying.
"Damn the tobacco box--and damn that--never mind--no, no, doctor, you
had better order the box to be buried with you, for nobody _could_ use
it after you; but if I might presume so far--might use the very great
liberty to make a selection, I would request, entreat, nay, implore you
to leave me the whole _suit of clothes_ in which you are now standing;
and if you would be so considerate, so kind, so generous, by God I'll
have them stuffed and preserved as a curiosity."
"Captain Reud, you are too good. Mr Staples," turning helplessly to
his assistant, "get me immediately an effervescing draught. Excuse my
sitting--I am very faint--you are so kind--you quite _overcome_ me."
"No, not yet," said the captain in a dry tone, but full of meaning. "I
may perhaps by-and-by, when you know more of me; but now--O no!
However, I'll do my best to make you grateful. And I'm sorry to
acquaint you, that the admiral has put off the survey till twelve
o'clock to-morrow, when I trust that you will be as well _prepared_ as
you are now. Don't be dejected, doctor, you have the consolation of
knowing, that if you die in the meantime, all the annoyance of the
examination will be saved you. In the interim, don't forget the old
clothes--the invaliding suit. My clerk shall step down with you into
the cabin, and tack a memorandum on, by way of codicil, to your will:
don't omit those high-quartered, square-toed shoes, with the brass
buckles."
"If you would promise to wear them out yourself."
"No, no; but I promise to put them on when I am going to invalid; or to
lend them to Mr Farmer, or any other friend, on a similar occasion."
"I hope," said Mr Farmer, "that I shall never stand in the doctor's
shoes."
"I hope you never will--nor in Captain Reud's either."
The gallant commander turned from yellow to black at this innuendo,
which was, for many reasons, particularly disagreeable. Seeing that he
was bagging to leeward, like a west-country barge laden with a haystack,
in this sailing-match of wits, he broke up the conference by observing,
"You had better, doctor, in consideration of your weakness, retire to
your cabin. I certainly cannot, seeing my near prospect of your
invaluable legacy, in any honesty wish you better."
With all due precautions, hesitations, and restings, Dr Thompson
reached his cabin, and I doubt not as he descended, enervated as he was,
but that he placed, like O'Connell, a vow in heaven, that if ever
Captain Reud fell under his surgical claws, the active operations of Dr
Sangrado should be in their celerity even as the progress of the sloth,
compared with the despatch and energy with which he would proceed on the
coveted opportunity.
When he was alone he was overheard to murmur, "Stand in my shoes--the
ignorant puppies! I shall see one of them, if not both in their shrouds
yet. Stand in my shoes! it is true the buckles are but brass; but they
are shoes whose latchets they are not worthy to unloose."
There was then another day for the poor doctor, of fasting, tartarised
antimony, and irritating eye-salve. And the captain, no doubt in secret
understanding with the admiral, played off the same trick. The survey
was deferred from day to day, for six days, and until the very one
before the ship weighed anchor. It must have been a period of intense
vexation and bodily suffering to the manoeuvring doctor.
Each day as he made his appearance at noon in the captain's cabin, he
had to wait in miserable state his hour and a half; or two hours, and
then to meet the gibing salutation of the captain, of; "Not dead yet,
doctor?" with his jokes upon the invaliding suit. The misery of the
deception, and the sufferings that he was forced to self-impose to keep
it up, as he afterwards confessed, had nearly conquered him on the third
day: that he was a man of the most enduring courage to brave a whole
week of such martyrdom, must be conceded to him. Had the farce
continued a day or two longer, he would have had the disagreeable option
forced upon him, either of being seriously ill, or of returning
_instanter_ to excellent health.