Paris (France) -- History -- Commune, 1871 -- Fiction
A momentary flash of surprise crossed his face. However, he said nothing
but quickened his steps and stood by the pallet on to which Cuthbert had
just been lifted. A shade passed over his face; he put his hand on
Cuthbert's wrist, then knelt down and placed his ear over his heart.
"Is he dead?" Mary asked in a whisper, as he rose to his feet again.
"No, no, my dear, I hope he is worth many dead men yet; he has fainted
from the jolting of the wagon just as many others that you have seen
have done. Fetch that brandy you have just poured out. He is hard hit,"
and he pointed to a bloodstained patch in his shirt just above the
waistband of his trousers. "There is no doubt about that, but we shall
know more about it presently."
As she hurried off to fetch the brandy the doctor's lips tightened.
"It is fifty to one against him," he muttered, "still, I have seen men
live with similar wounds."
He took the glass from Mary's hands as she returned and poured a little
between Cuthbert's lips. Then he listened to the heart's beating again.
"It is stronger already," he said, encouragingly to Mary. "Now, my dear,
you had better go out for a few minutes and get a little fresh air. Ask
Mrs. Stanmore to come here. I must try and find out where the bullet has
gone." As she moved away he went on, "Wait here a minute, Wilson, I
shall want to turn him over directly. Now for the wound. Ah! I thought
so!" as he removed a lightly fastened bandage and lifted a pad of lint
beneath it.
"There has been no bleeding since he was taken up. No doubt he fell
forward at first. Now turn him over. Ah, the bullet has gone right
through! He must have been hit by a shot fired at close quarters. Well,
that will save us trouble and the chances of complications. It is now a
simple question of how much damage it did as it passed through. Ah, Mrs.
Stanmore," he went on as the nurse came up with a tray of bandages and
other necessaries, "I find that there is not much to do here."
He took two small pieces of lint and rolled them up, poured a few drops
of carbolic acid on to them, placed one in each orifice, put pads of
lint over them, and passed a bandage twice round the body to keep them
in place.
"Thank you, Wilson, that will do for the present. Please pour a little
strong brandy and water down his throat, Mrs. Stanmore. Now I will see
to the next man. How are you hurt? In the shoulder, I see, by your
bandages."
"I was lying down behind a wall, Doctor, and raised myself slightly to
fire through a loophole when a bullet came through. I heard the surgeon
say that it had smashed the collar-bone, and had gone out through the
bone behind. I don't know what he called it, but it is what I should
call the shoulder-bone."
"Well, in that case you are in luck," the surgeon said, "if it had
glanced more downwards you would have been a dead man five minutes after
you were hit. Do you feel comfortable at present?"
"As comfortable as I can expect."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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