John Smith's Funny Adventures on a Crutch: Or The Remarkable Peregrinations of a One-legged Soldier after the WarHill, A. F. (Ashbel Fairchild)
History
John Smith's Funny Adventures on a Crutch: Or The Remarkable Peregrinations of a One-legged Soldier after the War
Hill, A. F. (Ashbel Fairchild)
Disabled veterans -- United States -- Fiction; United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Veterans -- Fiction
“Yes, I only landed here a week or two ago. I have not felt quite well
since my arrival, and since I fell out of a boat in the harbor the other
day and got wet, I have felt worse.”
After some discussing of symptoms, the Doctor said:
“You have what is called Panama Fever. But that’s nothing. Where did you
lose your leg?”
“In the army.”
“Well, it is not necessary for you to go to the hospital. It would be a
hard place for you to go to, any how, and I cannot allow it. Do not be
discouraged. It is nothing here for new-comers to find themselves
pecuniarily reduced. Such things happen every day. A great many persons
are arriving here now, and many of them come with but little spare
means. As numbers do not get into business so soon as they hope, the
result is very natural. Now, as for yourself, if you suppose that I, who
can easily cure you in a short time, would sit here with my arms folded,
smoking my pipe, and see you go into the hospital for want of treatment,
and that, too, after you have lost a limb in the service of your
country, I must say that it speaks poorly for your discernment of human
character. I should——”
“But I am almost without means, and——”
“Well, suppose you are? _I_ am not. You shall not go into the hospital;
you shall accept medicine from me; you shall also allow me to see that
you want for nothing in the way of living till you are well and succeed
in getting into business.”
“But, Doctor, it would not be right for me to——”
“Excuse me one moment,” interrupted the Doctor, rising and going into
another room.
When, after a brief absence, he returned, it was with several small
packages of medicines in his hand with “directions” pasted on them.
“Take these with you to your lodging-house, and come in and see me
to-morrow.”
“But how can I, consistently——”
“Come, now, after I have prepared the medicines for your particular
case, you would not surely refuse them, and thus render them useless.”
“Very well, Doctor, I will take them; but remember that I do not accept
them gratuitously. That, however, does not lessen your kindness in
offering them. I will accept treatment at present, but it must be with
the understanding that I am to pay you as soon as I——”
“Have more money than I have,” interrupted the Doctor.
On arriving at his lodging-house, and entering his room, the owner of
the packages began to examine them. One was a small vial with a
brandy-colored liquid in it, and a label on instructing the patient to
indulge in a certain number of drops at certain intervals. Another was a
small, round paper box, which rattled in such a way as to entirely
preclude the idea of its containing any thing else than pills. A label
on this box suggested to the afflicted the expedience of enveloping one
of them in his stomach each evening about bed-time.
A third box, however, was a puzzle. It was like the second in size, was
heavier, did not rattle, and bore the following astounding directions:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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