From this specimen of the most obdurate indifference, contrasted with
the last excess of misery, Middlemas became satisfied how little could
be made of an appeal to the humanity of his fellow-sufferers. His heart
sunk within him, and the thoughts of the happy and peaceful home, which
he might have called his own, rose before his over-heated fancy, with a
vividness of perception that bordered upon insanity. He saw before him
the rivulet which wanders through the burgh-muir of Middlemas, where he
had so often set little mills for the amusement of Menie while she was
a child. One draught of it would have been worth all the diamonds of
the East, which of late he had worshipped with such devotion; but that
draught was denied to him as to Tantalus.
Rallying his senses from this passing illusion, and knowing enough
of the practice of the medical art, to be aware of the necessity of
preventing his ideas from wandering if possible, he endeavoured to
recollect that he was a surgeon, and, after all, should not have the
extreme fear for the interior of a military hospital, which its horrors
might inspire into strangers to the profession. But though he strove, by
such recollections, to rally his spirits, he was not the less aware
of the difference betwixt the condition of a surgeon, who might have
attended such a place in the course of his duty, and a poor inhabitant,
who was at once a patient and a prisoner.
A footstep was now heard in the apartment, which seemed to silence all
the varied sounds of woe that filled it. The cribbage party hid their
cards, and ceased their oaths; other wretches, whose complaints had
arisen to frenzy, left off their wild exclamations and entreaties for
assistance. Agony softened her shriek, Insanity hushed its senseless
clamours, and even Death seemed desirous to stifle his parting groan
in the presence of Captain Seelencooper. This official was the
superintendent, or, as the miserable inhabitants termed him, the
Governor of the Hospital. He had all the air of having been originally
a turnkey in some ill-regulated jail--a stout, short, bandy-legged man,
with one eye, and a double portion of ferocity in that which remained.
He wore an old-fashioned tarnished uniform, which did not seem to have
been made for him; and the voice in which this minister of humanity
addressed the sick, was that of a boatswain, shouting in the midst of
a storm. He had pistols and a cutlass in his belt; for his mode of
administration being such as provoked even hospital patients to revolt,
his life had been more than once in danger amongst them. He was followed
by two assistants, who carried hand-cuffs and strait-jackets.
As Seelencooper made his rounds, complaint and pain were hushed, and the
flourish of the bamboo, which he bore in his hand, seemed powerful as
the wand of a magician to silence all complaint and remonstrance.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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