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- CHAPTER LXIII.
THE OPERATION.
Next morning, at the appointed hour, the surgeons arrived in a body.
They were accompanied by their juniors, young men ranging in age from
nineteen years to thirty. Like the senior surgeons, these young
gentlemen were arrayed in their blue navy uniforms, displaying a
profusion of bright buttons, and several broad bars of gold lace about
the wristbands. As in honour of the occasion, they had put on their
best coats; they looked exceedingly brilliant.
The whole party immediately descended to the half-deck, where
preparations had been made for the operation. A large garrison-ensign
was stretched across the ship by the main-mast, so as completely to
screen the space behind. This space included the whole extent aft to
the bulk-head of the Commodore’s cabin, at the door of which the
marine-orderly paced, in plain sight, cutlass in hand.
Upon two gun-carriages, dragged amidships, the Death-board (used for
burials at sea) was horizontally placed, covered with an old
royal-stun’-sail. Upon this occasion, to do duty as an
amputation-table, it was widened by an additional plank. Two
match-tubs, near by, placed one upon another, at either end supported
another plank, distinct from the table, whereon was exhibited an array
of saws and knives of various and peculiar shapes and sizes; also, a
sort of steel, something like the dinner-table implement, together with
long needles, crooked at the end for taking up the arteries, and large
darning-needles, thread and bee’s-wax, for sewing up a wound.
At the end nearest the larger table was a tin basin of water,
surrounded by small sponges, placed at mathematical intervals. From the
long horizontal pole of a great-gun rammer—fixed in its usual place
overhead—hung a number of towels, with “U.S.” marked in the corners.
All these arrangements had been made by the “Surgeon’s steward,” a
person whose important functions in a man-of-war will, in a future
chapter, be entered upon at large. Upon the present occasion, he was
bustling about, adjusting and readjusting the knives, needles, and
carver, like an over-conscientious butler fidgeting over a dinner-table
just before the convivialists enter.
But by far the most striking object to be seen behind the ensign was a
human skeleton, whose every joint articulated with wires. By a rivet at
the apex of the skull, it hung dangling from a hammock-hook fixed in a
beam above. Why this object was here, will presently be seen; but why
it was placed immediately at the foot of the amputation-table, only
Surgeon Cuticle can tell.
While the final preparations were being made, Cuticle stood conversing
with the assembled Surgeons and Assistant Surgeons, his invited guests.
“Gentlemen,” said he, taking up one of the glittering knives and
artistically drawing the steel across it; “Gentlemen, though these
scenes are very unpleasant, and in some moods, I may say, repulsive to
me—yet how much better for our patient to have the contusions and
lacerations of his present wound—with all its dangerous
symptoms—converted into a clean incision, free from these objections,
and occasioning so much less subsequent anxiety to himself and the
Surgeon. Yes,” he added, tenderly feeling the edge of his knife,
“amputation is our only resource. Is it not so, Surgeon Patella?”
turning toward that gentleman, as if relying upon some sort of an
assent, however clogged with conditions.
“Certainly,” said Patella, “amputation is your only resource, Mr.
Surgeon of the Fleet; that is, I mean, if you are fully persuaded of
its necessity.”
The other surgeons said nothing, maintaining a somewhat reserved air,
as if conscious that they had no positive authority in the case,
whatever might be their own private opinions; but they seemed willing
to behold, and, if called upon, to assist at the operation, since it
could not now be averted.
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