The sight of my cousin’s lovely face, and the heavenly music of her
tongue, made me so forgiving, that I could be angry with no one.--At this
moment a nice-looking elderly man slid into the room as noiselessly as a
cat.
“How are you, Lieutenant? Why, you are positively gay this morning!
Preserve me!--why have you taken off the dressing from your head?”
“Preserve me--you may say that, Doctor--why, you seem to have preserved
me, and pickled me after a very remarkable fashion, certainly! Why, man,
do you intend to make a mummy of me, with all your swaddlings? Now, what
is that crackling on my chest? More plantain-leaves, as I live!”
“Only another blister, sir.”
“Only another blister--and my feet--Zounds! what have you been doing with
my feet? The soles are as tender as if I had been bastinadoed.”
“Only cataplasms, sir; mustard and bird-pepper poultices nothing more.”
“Mustard and bird-pepper poultices!--and pray, what is that long fiddle
case supported on two chairs in the piazza!”
“What case?” said the good Doctor, and his eye followed mine. “Oh, my
gun-case. I am a great sportsman, you must know--but draw down that
blind, Mr Bang, if you please, the breeze is too strong.”
“Gun-case! I would rather have taken it for your game-box, Doctor.
However, thanks be to Heaven, you have not bagged me this bout.”
At this moment, I heard a violent scratching and jumping on the roof of
the house, and presently a loud croak, and a strong rushing noise, as of
a large bird taking flight--“What is that, Doctor?”
“The devil,” said he, laughing, “at least your evil genius, Lieutenant,
it is the carrion crows, the large John--Crows, as they are called,
flying away. They have been holding a council of war upon you since
early dawn, expecting (I may tell you, now you are so well) that it might
likely soon turn into a coroner’s inquest.”
“John--Crow!--Coroner’s inquest!--Cool shavers those West India chaps,
after all!” muttered I; and again I lay back, and offered up my heart,
warm thanks to the Almighty, for his great mercy to me a sinner.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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