as you mentioned it, I’ll taste the little pig--a _lee_tle bit, Mr.
President. Devilish good joke--thank you, that will do.
_Vice-President._ Yes, Major, the Duke was our best friend; it was he
who first raised the pay of the surgeons, and thus made the situation
more worthy to be filled by men of education. Sir James M’Grigor,
and Sir William Franklin, have completed what the Duke began, and
now, thanks to those gentlemen, our department is not only happily
organized, and its rank sustained, but we can furnish in the field,
men of genuine professional education; not tyros of the pestle, but
scientifically bred surgeons, who can whip off your legs while you’d be
saying “Jack Robison.”--A glass of wine, Major.
_Major._ With great pleasure.
_Dr. Adipose._ Mr. Vice, I’ll taste that wild duck--hau--it looks
well--and squeeze a lemon on it:--but first we’ll take a glass of
wine--hau.
_Capt. Beamish._ I’m not so long as the Major in the service, by twenty
years, and even in _my_ time the military surgeons were in general
inferior to what they are now, both in education and respectability.
_Mr. Ward._ The peninsular war required a vast deal of surgeons, and
therefore, a number of young unqualified men, of necessity were sent
out to Portugal; but since that, Sir, this very Chatham hospital has
been established; and it bids fair to become a school for military
surgeons.
_Dr. Kyle._ By-the-by, it would not be a bad thing to follow
Buonaparte’s plan of educating medical men for the army. The Parliament
might vote money for worse purposes than promoting the health and
comfort of the soldiers in providing a military-medical school.--This
I really believe. Then, in case of necessity, we should not be forced
to receive indifferently educated surgeons into the service.--Chatham
would be the very place for it. We have already a splendid anatomical
museum, a good library, and an extensive hospital. All wanting now,
is permission to receive young men as pupils or cadets, who would be
supported by government until fit to join the army:--Something like the
Artillery-school at Woolwich. Then the well-qualified officers of the
department, who are now receiving half-pay for nothing, might have
here something to do in lecturing as professors.
_President._ Hoot! if ya’d apply to parelament for sic a thing, ya’d
ha’ Masther Joey Hume at wark wi’ his hammer an’ tongs:--he’d cry oot
“sae muckle for lodging--sae muckle for poorridge--an’ sae muckle for
pooltices,” till he’d run up a bill for the hoose that wad beat the
_Docthor’s Bill_ clane oot an’ oot.
_Dr. Kyle._ But Sir James and Mr. Hume are both Aberdeen men, are they
not? There might be something done that way.
_President._ Nae, that wad do naething; Sir James has a lang heed
o’ his ain, an’ if it war to be done at a’, he’d nae consult the
calculator aboot it.
_Dr. Adipose._ Very true, Mr. President, hau--I’ll thank you for
another custard, au--just to finish this apple-pie.
_President._ First we’ll take a drap o’ wine, Docthor; ya’r takin’
reed, so there’s the decanter.
_Major Oldfield._ I really think the plan is good; for this
reason:--when men expend a considerable sum on medical education, they
look to a return; and the success of private practice is far more
tempting than the army-surgeon’s; therefore professional education
might be provided for them at a moderate expense, and as a security,
they might be bound to remain a certain number of years in the army.
_Capt. Beamish._ I remember a joke which passed current at the expense
of the young surgeons when I was at Lisbon:--a ship was hailed, in
passing up the Tagus, to learn what she had on board, and the Master
answered “_horses and hospital mates, for the use of the army_.”
_Vice President._ Very true: there were many such jokes played off
upon them; and this was owing, in a great measure, to the want of such
an establishment as this at Chatham. Then, a set of young raw Scotch
or Irish pupils would come up to London, pass their examinations,
and be ordered forthwith out to Portugal. Unacquainted with military
etiquette and the usages of officers, it is not to be wondered that
they were in general laughed at. I myself have seen one of the
medical juniors--then a dispenser of medicines, but now Apothecary
to the Forces--dressed in a _brown_ ill-made _surtout_ coat, blue
trowsers ending at the calf of the leg, pepper-and-salt coloured
worsted stockings, and shoes; the whole surmounted by a cocked hat, and
straight black feather: in one hand he carried his sword, and in the
other an umbrella!
[_A laugh from all the mess, particularly convulsive in Dr.
Adipose._
_President._ It’s vary deeferent noo; look at us a’ here fra’ top to
bottom--there’s nae irreg’larity in oor appearance--nae gaudy gewgaws
aboot us, but neat an’ military to a degree: oor uniform is noo blue
an’ reed ye see--then it was reed an’ black. Here, when a young man
joins us, he learns not only his duty, but the mode o’ appearing like
a proper meelitary surgeon, an’ joins a regiment ready made, as it
were: it was far deeferent during the peninsular war. I can assure
ya gentlemen, the present Airmy Meedical Board deserve the highest
praise--an’ something more substantial too, for the establishment
o’ this valuable _heed-quarters_, I may call it, o’ the Meedical
Department; an’, wi’ yir leave, I’ll noo drink their health in a
bumper; [_all rise_] I’ll gi’ ya, gentlemen, Sir James M’Grigor, an’
Sir William Franklin, the regenerators o’ the Meedical Department.
[_drunk with three times three._
_Assist. Staff Surg. Leech._ The only thing I see unpleasant in our
situation, is that we are not promoted fast enough.
[_a laugh._
_President._ There is something in that: Misther Leech there, has been
in the sarvice--hoo long noo, Leech?
_Assist. Surg. Leech._ About eight years on active service abroad, and
nearly eight more on half-pay.
_President._ Ha! that’s a long time. I remember when I enthered the
sarvice, an assistant-surgeon seldom remained withoot promotion for
mere nor three years, and some got it in as many months. But this can
hardly be helped noo, fra’ the encreased numbers. Hooever, it wad be
an improvement in the Department, if the juniors were mere quickly
promoted; and also a greater number o’ gude places for the seniors to
look up to.
_Dr. Adipose._ Right, Mr. President, hau--take care of the
seniors.--I’ll thank you for the nuts.
[_a laugh._
_Vice President._ There are not enough of high places certainly. The
situation of Inspector of Hospitals, is all that the surgeon can
fairly look to; and of these there are not many. Now what is that
worth?--about 700_l._ a year. This, mind you, is the _utmost_ a man
can look to, unless it be the directorship of the Department; and that
is but _one_ place of worth--all this after twenty or thirty years of
troublesome service:--there lies the disadvantages of the profession.
If a surgeon be but commonly attentive, and fairly qualified, he will
soon be worth more than twice seven hundred a year in civil practice:
nay, an apothecary, who sticks up a blue bottle at the corner of
a narrow lane in London, will soon make as good an income as the
Inspector of Hospitals.
_President._ True enough: there ought to be at least half a doozen
gude births, o’ a thoosand a year, by way o’ rewards for auld and
meretorious meedical oofficers; an’ the young ones ought to run up a
leettle faster. What d’ye think of the sinecures given to the Irish
Medical Board:--the present Surgeon-general, an’ Physeecian-general,
an’ several o’ the Inspecthors, enjoy their full pay an’ allooances,
yet were never in the army at a.’ (_murmurs of disapprobation from all
the Mess_) Yes, gentlemen, ’tis fac’ as deeth:--hey! I wish the Duke
may just tak’ it into his head to examine it.
_Dr. Adipose._ Au--hau--that’s the man for cutting up the
Doctors--hau--I’ll take the olives and that orange, Mr.
Ward--hau--thank you.
_Dr. Kyle._ What our worthy President says is just. Those situations
in Ireland were given to rich _civil_ practitioners--I believe by
one of the Viceroys: now, really, if Viceroys choose to reward their
medical friends with good incomes, they should not take the money out
of the pockets of those officers who have been living like gipsies on
the mountains--enduring every privation to watch over the lives of
our gallant soldiers; or perhaps wasting their health and life in the
pestilential air of tropical hospitals. There are but few good places
in the Department, and surely they should not be given to wealthy
practitioners, who do not belong to the army. Cheyne, Crampton,
Peel--all worth at least two or three thousand a year each by their
practice--take three of our best places from us; yet, until their
present appointment, never had anything whatever to do with the army.
_Mr. Ward._ Yes; Crampton, I believe, was an hospital mate for five or
six months; and, I remember, he did duty in the camp which was on the
Curragh of Kildare.
_Dr. Kyle._ Vast service, indeed! (_a laugh._)
_Dr. Adipose._ Gentlemen, I’ll give you a toast--hau:--I’ll give
you--Mr. Abernethy and the digestive organs.
[_A roar of laughter follows the corpulent gentleman’s toast._
_President._ Why--Adipose--what the deel maks you toast the digeestive
organs?
_Dr. Adipose._ Because they are our best friends--hau--and the
particular supporters of our worthy brother Abernethy.
(_applause._)
_Major Oldfield._ Gentlemen, I’m sorry my health requires me to leave
you. There was a time when I could drink with the best of you: but
I am seventy-six years of age, and that I hope will be my excuse for
quitting so early this pleasant mess-table. Allow me, before I go, to
say that it gives me the greatest satisfaction to see the hospital
staff thus consolidated: many attempts were made, during the long time
I served in the army, to establish a regular mess in this department,
but all failed. I give you joy, therefore, gentlemen, on the attainment
of the object now: and I trust you will not receive it as flattery
when an old officer tells you, that for forty years in the service, he
never had the honour of dining at a mess where there was more military
regularity and more enlightened members. Permit me now, Mr. President,
to drink “Prosperity to the Medical Officers of the Army--the soldiers’
best friends in the day of sorrow.”[17]
(_great applause._)
The Major now departed--several of the members of the mess, who
were on duty, also retired to the hospital, and the remainder sat
in pleasant conversation until eleven o’clock, when they partook of
deviled turkey, specially prepared by Doctor Adipose; and having washed
it down with a few glasses of claret, broke up for the night.
NIGHTS IN THE GUARD-HOUSE.
No. VI.
“That’s the worst of the army,” said Private Andrews to Sergeant
Dobson, as he rose to open the guard-house door--“that’s the worst of
it: we are scarcely well acquainted with the inhabitants of a town in
which we are quartered, when the route comes, and off we go; perhaps
never to see again people that we would wish to spend our lives with.”
“Very true,” replied the Sergeant; “I have often felt that, and so have
you; but I think there is something about our leaving Ballycraggen
which touches your feelings, Andrews, a little more than the leaving
of any former quarters in which I have seen you.”
“Why, to tell you the truth, I do not like to quit that poor girl,
Sergeant; she is a good, kind-hearted creature,” returned Private
Andrews, lifting the latch for the purpose of seeing who it was that
engaged the sentry in conversation.
The door was opened, and in a few moments an aged man appeared at the
threshold, exclaiming “Soldiers, I am glad to see you--blessings upon
you! It is a cold and a bleak night: I have yet four miles to go: will
you give me a seat at your fire? I am a man of threescore and twelve
years of age, and before now my shoulder has borne a brown bess in the
service.”
“Come in, come in, my old fellow!” was the answer from every man of
the guard. The stranger’s venerable appearance was a _carte blanche_:
he was not only admitted to the guard-house, but the old oak chair
was resigned to him by honest Sergeant Dobson--no small compliment,
considering the comfort and importance which it always afforded to the
Sergeant of the Guard.
The old man who was thus simultaneously honoured, was that sort of
personage which a romantic poet would think his fortune made in getting
a sight of; and in describing him would immortalize himself,--provided
he were a true poet: the white beard would demand a dozen stanzas:--the
Ossianic vapour of the morn curling in the breeze--the snow upon
the skirts of a towering mountain--the surf whitening the base of
the cloud-capped sea-rock--these, and a thousand other comparisons,
would be called in to paint it. The bald and expanded forehead would
be likened to the most polished work of ivory-turners; the eye add a
new star to the heavens; and the figure of the man be handed down to
sculptors as a model for the venerable grandeur of humanity!
Now, as I am writing plain prose, I will say without metaphor, that he
was a tall man of seventy-two years of age, with a long and silky white
beard; a good-natured countenance, and as sound and healthy to all
appearances as Corporal O’Callaghan; who, in point of age, might have
been almost his grandson, and who took up his position beside him at
the fire, the moment the old man sat down.
“What the divil makes you wear your beard?” said the Corporal;
“couldn’t you borrow a razor anywhere once a week?”
“I have worn my beard,” replied the stranger, “for these many, many
years. It is an old friend, and tells me a history. It was never cut
since the mutiny of the Nore.”
“What! are you a sailor?” demanded the Sergeant.
“No, young man, I belonged to the Royal Marines.”
“O, by the powers! he’s one o’ the red boys afther all,” exclaimed the
Corporal: “give us your fist.--God! you’re very cowld: will you take
a--” here O’Callaghan whispered something to the stranger, and then
went to a recess in the guard-room, where there was a bottle--in short,
nothing that could be done by the guard to show their respect for the
old soldier, was neglected: the consequence was, that he became very
communicative, and related not only the history of the mutiny of the
Nore, but gave them a description of his own adventures subsequent to
that affair. There is no use in making a secret of the matter--a bottle
of potyeen whisky was dispatched, and the party enjoyed themselves
by the fire in listening to the veteran’s stories with the greatest
attention for a couple of hours: during which time the rain pattered,
and the wind blew, unheeded by the group. He told them he had enlisted
when a boy, and had served as a marine in several engagements. He was
entrapped into the mutiny of the Nore; but the only part which he took
in the proceedings, was writing out in a fair hand several papers for
the mutineers--and this he declared he did for no other purpose than
to indulge his own vanity, in displaying his fine writing, upon which
he had highly valued himself. He was tried after the surrender of the
mutineers, and transported for life to Van Diemen’s Land. Amongst the
stories with which he amused the guard, the most interesting was the
following, in which he himself was a principal actor.
THE BUSH-RANGERS.
“I had not been more than two or three weeks in Hobart Town, when I was
assigned as a crown servant to a worthy gentleman--Mr. Allen--with whom
I lived, until it pleased God to call him away from this life: I served
him faithfully, and he treated me more like a relation than a slave. He
failed in business as a merchant a year before his death, and I believe
it preyed upon his mind. He left scarcely any property behind him,
but what there was, he willed to me:--seventeen pounds was all that
remained after the whole of his things were sold by auction, and his
funeral expenses paid. This sum fell to me. I was very happy while Mr.
Allen lived; but after that, I began to think of obtaining my liberty,
in order to return home to this country, for there was nobody I cared
about in the colony. I was applied to by a Mr. M’Carthy, to undertake
the overseeing of his land; and I accepted the offer. I had my choice
of places; for old Jack Worral--that’s my name--was well respected
by every free settler in the country. Shortly after my going to Mr.
M’Carthy’s, the Bush-rangers became very troublesome: there was a gang
of them--about seven-and-twenty--out in the woods and wild country;
and they used to come down of a night and plunder the settlers of
everything--neither cattle nor corn, nor house, was secure from their
depredations. Mr. M’Carthy had a fine schooner lying in the Derwent,
loaded with goods; he feared that the Bush-rangers would plunder her;
for his neighbour, a Mr. Carlisle, had been recently robbed by them,
and he, himself, had seen some of them shooting kangaroos on the
banks of the river. He therefore mentioned to me, that he would like
to form a party to go in pursuit of them. I volunteered to be one;
for although then near sixty years of age, I could manage the best
of them. Several of the neighbours instantly joined:--there were Mr.
Triffit, and Murphy, and Jemmot, and Brown, and Carlisle, and Tooms,
and Hacking, and O’Berne, the master of our schooner, the Geordy, and
three or four sailors. Every man had a fowling-piece or a musket--some
had also pistols, and swords, and bayonets. We started on the track
of the Bush-rangers, just an hour before sunrise, of a beautiful
twilight-night, in the latter end of spring: our direction was towards
the centre of a space, between two high hills, which was about three
miles away, and where there was an open valley on the banks of a small
river: we used to call it the fairy’s valley, on account of the little
patches of green pasturage which every where appeared through the thick
and matted brushwood?]--for you know it is said, that these are the
spots where the _good people_[18] dance of a moonlight night.
“We travelled on after our guide, who was a native that lived in
the service of Mr. Carlisle, and who had been ill-treated by the
Bush-rangers but a few days before, when they were plundering his
master’s house: there was no road or path, as you might see in other
countries--our way was over hills, and over craggs, and through jungles
of brushwood, so that we were an hour and a half before we got into
the opening of the valley. The sun was up and mists disappearing; the
place as silent as the grave--nothing to be heard but whatever noise
ourselves made. Mr. M’Carthy now proposed that we should lie down,
under cover of an overhanging rock, in a sort of green cave, thatched,
as it were, with briers, bushes, and flowers, of every description:
he said we had better halt and send out one or two as scouts: this
we did; and the guide, with Mr. Murphy himself, after having taken a
little refreshment by way of breakfast, climbed up the side of a steep
hill, through the bushes, in order to get a complete view of all round
from the top. While they were away we examined all our arms, and took
our breakfast of cold meat and a small allowance of grog, dealt out by
Mr. M’Carthy--for he kept charge of the spirits himself, lest any one
should take too much. In about a quarter of an hour after Mr. Murphy
and the guide went out, we heard a shot which rattled and echoed three
or four times across the valley: this, as we afterwards learned, was
fired by one of the Bush-rangers at a bird, and in the sight of the
guide, who now came creeping down the hill with Mr. Murphy, making
signs for silence. Our scouts informed us that the Bush-rangers were
within shot, roasting mutton under a hill; but that to come upon them
without being observed, it would require us to return and advance by
an opening on the other side of them--a rising ground that was clear
under-foot, but covered with immense trees. We immediately proceeded
one by one to the rear, and in about ten minutes were in view of the
smoke from the Bush-rangers’ fires; and by stooping so as to screen
ourselves from the possible view of the robbers, we were enabled to
get within about a hundred yards of them. Mr. M’Carthy ordered us to
lie down, which we did. We could hear the fellows through the bushes,
cursing, swearing, and laughing; some were cooking pieces of mutton,
others lolling on the grass, smoking and drinking: and a pretty,
interesting-looking native girl, sat playing with the long and bushy
black ringlets of a stout and wicked-looking man seated by her: he had
pistols in his belt--wore a fustian jacket, a kangaroo-skin cap and
waistcoat, with leather gaiters, and dirty velveteen breeches. I saw
him as plainly as I see any one here; and what do you think? the fellow
had two watches in his fob! This turned out, as I learned afterwards,
to be Michael Howe, the second in command of the robbers: at that time
Whitehead was the leader--a tall, ill-looking villain as ever you saw:
_he_ was also there, asleep on the grass.
“We were now directed by Mr. M’Carthy to cock our pieces, and on a
wave of his hand to rise and show ourselves, but not to fire until the
word was given; and also, that if the Bush-rangers attempted to fire,
to drop down so as to avoid the shot, and, if not possible to advance
at once upon them, we were each to take a position behind a tree, and
from thence fire upon the robbers: this was the plan of attack. Mr.
M’Carthy now rose up, and with his piece at the ‘_ready_,’ cried out
to Whitehead to surrender: the Bushmen were up in a moment, and behind
a tremendous trunk of a hollow tree, through a hole in which we could
see them. Whitehead replied to the summons very coolly; ‘I tell you
what, M’Carthy,’ said he, ‘you will never be easy until I settle you: I
spared your life last Thursday night; and if you want not to lose it,
go home about your business.’
“Mr. M’Carthy now waved his hand, when we all stood up, and came to the
present. Whitehead got behind the tree.
“‘Put down your guns,’ said he, ‘and I’ll speak to you.’
“Mr. M’Carthy ordered us to comply; we took them from our shoulders,
but still held them with our fingers on the triggers.
“‘Now,’ said Whitehead, ‘let me advise you to leave us alone; we are
well armed, and can beat you; but we don’t want blood: let us alone, I
say, and go back to your homes. A man of us will not be taken alive.’
“‘If you surrender quietly, Whitehead,’ replied Mr. M’Carthy, ‘I can
assure you pardon from the Government: you see my party is strong, so
don’t force me to fire.’
“Michael Howe then roared out, ‘Slap at the beggars!’--a volley was
fired at us through the hole in the tree; and which we returned. On
looking round at our party, after I had fired, I saw Carlisle, Murphy,
Jemmot, Triffet, and O’Berne, lying on the ground, but none of them
quite dead.
“Whitehead now cried out to us, with an oath, to surrender; but we
reloaded fast, and kept up such a hedge-firing, that one of the fellows
dared not show himself, to present his piece. I called out to our
party to take aim at every shot, and only two to fire at a time. Some
of the sailors now led away four of our wounded party; but Mr. Murphy
could not be stirred, he was shot through the belly, and remained:
Mr. Carlisle died on our way home; and O’Berne, who was shot in the
face, expired in four days after. We were obliged to retreat, firing
as we went; but the Bushmen had no wish to follow us. The fact is, Mr.
M’Carthy ought to have opened on them at first, without giving them
a moment’s consideration, and then should have run right in upon the
fellows.
[“To be sure,” replied Sergeant Dobson; “they should not have given
them a moment.”
“Oh, faith! that’s where they put their foot in it, completely,”
rejoined Corporal O’Callaghan, as he offered the horn cup to the old
man. “Wet your whistle,” said he, “before you go any farther.”
This was done in due form, and the venerable soldier renewed his story
with encreased energy and pleasure:--]