``An' it's not the rigulation to saloot with
yer left,'' said the Irishman, with a grin, while
the patients around us began to smile.
``How did it happen?'' said the
surgeon.
``I was shot in the shoulder,'' answered the
patient, ``about three months ago, sir. I
haven't stirred it since.''
The
surgeon looked at the scar.
``So recently?'' said he. ``The scar looks
older; and, by the way, doctor,''--to his
junior,--``it could not have gone near the
nerves. Bring the
battery, orderly.''
In a few moments the
surgeon was testing
one after another, the various muscles. At
last he stopped. ``Send this man away with
the next
detachment. Not a word, my man.
You are a
rascal, and a
disgrace to honest
men who have been among bullets.''
The man muttered something, I did not
hear what.
``Put this man in the guard-house,'' cried
the
surgeon, and so passed on without smile
or frown.
As to the ulcer case, to my
amusement he
was put in bed, and his leg locked up in a
wooden splint, which
effectually prevented
him from
touching the part
diseased. It
healed in ten days, and he too went as food
for powder.
The
surgeon asked me a few questions, and
requesting to be sent for during my next fit,
left me alone.
I was, of course, on my guard, and took
care to have my attacks only during his
absence, or to have them over before he arrived.
At length, one morning, in spite of my care,
he chanced to enter the ward as I fell on the
floor. I was laid on the bed,
apparently in
strong convulsions. Presently I felt a finger
on my
eyelid, and as it was raised, saw the
surgeonstanding beside me. To escape his
scrutiny I became more
violent in my
motions. He stopped a moment and looked at
me
steadily. ``Poor fellow!'' said he, to my
great
relief, as I felt at once that I had
successfully deceived him. Then he turned to
the ward doctor and remarked: ``Take care
he does not hurt his head against the bed;
and, by the by, doctor, do you remember the
test we
applied in Carstairs's case? Just tickle
the soles of his feet and see if it will cause
those
backward spasms of the head.''
The aid obeyed him, and, very naturally,
I jerked my head
backward as hard as I
could.
``That will answer,'' said the
surgeon, to
my
horror. ``A clever rogue. Send him to
the guard-house.''
Happy had I been had my ill luck ended
here, but as I crossed the yard an officer
stopped me. To my
disgust, it was the captain
of my old Rhode Island company.
``Hello!'' said he; ``keep that fellow safe.
I know him.''
To cut short a long story, I was tried,
convicted, and forced to refund the Rhode Island
bounty, for by ill luck they found my bank-
book among my papers. I was finally sent
to Fort Delaware and kept at hard labor,
handling and carrying shot, policing the
ground, picking up cigar-stumps, and other
light,
unpleasant occupations.
When the war was over I was released. I
went at once to Boston, where I had about
four hundred dollars in bank. I spent nearly
all of this sum before I could satisfy the
accumulated cravings of a year and a half without
drink or
tobacco, or a
decent meal. I
was about to engage in a little business as a
vender of
lottery policies when I first began
to feel a strange sense of lassitude, which
soon increased so as quite to
disable me from
work of any kind. Month after month passed
away, while my money
lessened, and this
terrible sense of
weariness went on from
bad to worse. At last one day, after nearly
a year had elapsed, I perceived on my face a
large brown patch of color, in consequence
of which I went in some alarm to
consult a
well-known
physician. He asked me a multitude
of
tiresome questions, and at last wrote
off a prescription, which I immediately read.
It was a
preparation of arsenic.
``What do you think,'' said I, ``is the matter
with me, doctor?''
``I am afraid,'' said he, ``that you have a
very serious trouble--what we call Addison's
disease.''
``What's that?'' said I.
``I do not think you would comprehend
it,'' he replied; ``it is an
affection of the
suprarenal capsules.''
I dimly remembered that there were such
organs, and that nobody knew what they
were meant for. It seemed that doctors had
found a use for them at last.
``Is it a dangerous disease?'' I said.
``I fear so,'' he answered.
``Don't you really know,'' I asked, ``what's
the truth about it?''
``Well,'' he returned
gravely, ``I'm sorry
to tell you it is a very dangerous malady.''
``Nonsense!'' said I; ``I don't believe it'';
for I thought it was only a doctor's trick, and
one I had tried often enough myself.
``Thank you,'' said he; ``you are a very ill
man, and a fool besides. Good morning.''
He forgot to ask for a fee, and I did not
therefore find it necessary to escape payment
by telling him I was a doctor.
Several weeks went by; my money was
gone, my clothes were
ragged, and, like my
body, nearly worn out, and now I am an
inmate of a hospital. To-day I feel weaker
than when I first began to write. How it
will end, I do not know. If I die, the doctor
will get this pleasant history, and if I live, I
shall burn it, and as soon as I get a little
money I will set out to look for my sister.
I dreamed about her last night. What I
dreamed was not very
agreeable. I thought
it was night. I was walking up one of the
vilest streets near my old office, and a girl
spoke to me--a shameless, worn creature,
with great sad eyes. Suddenly she screamed,
``Brother, brother!'' and then remembering
what she had been, with her round, girlish,
innocent face and fair hair, and
seeing what
she was now, I awoke and saw the dim light
of the half-darkened ward.
I am better to-day. Writing all this stuff
has amused me and, I think, done me good.
That was a
horrid dream I had. I suppose I
must tear up all this biography.
``Hello, nurse! The little boy--boy--''
``GOOD HEAVENS!'' said the nurse, ``he is
dead! Dr. Alston said it would happen this
way. The
screen, quick--the
screen--and
let the doctor know.''
THE CASE OF GEORGE DEDLOW
The following notes of my own
case have been declined on various
pretests by every
medicaljournal to which I have offered
them. There was, perhaps,
some reason in this, because many of the
medical facts which they record are not
altogether new, and because the psychical
deductions to which they have led me are not
in themselves of
medical interest. I ought
to add that a great deal of what is here
related is not of any
scientific value
whatsoever; but as one or two people on whose
judgment I rely have advised me to print
my
narrative with all the personal details,
rather than in the dry shape in which, as a
psychological statement, I shall publish it
elsewhere, I have yielded to their views. I
suspect, however, that the very
character of
my record will, in the eyes of some of my
readers, tend to
lessen the value of the
metaphysical discoveries which it sets forth.
I am the son of a
physician, still in large
practice, in the village of Abington, Scofield
County, Indiana. Expecting to act as his
future
partner, I
studied medicine in his
office, and in 1859 and 1860 attended lectures
at the Jefferson Medical College in Philadelphia.
My second course should have been in
the following year, but the
outbreak of the
Rebellion so crippled my father's means that
I was forced to
abandon my
intention. The
demand for army
surgeons at this time
became very great; and although not a graduate,
I found no difficulty in getting the place
of
assistantsurgeon to the Tenth Indiana
Volunteers. In the
subsequent Western
campaigns this organization suffered so
severely that before the term of its service
was over it was merged in the Twenty-first
Indiana Volunteers; and I, as an extra
surgeon,
ranked by the
medical officers of the latter
regiment, was transferred to the Fifteenth
Indiana Cavalry. Like many
physicians, I
had
contracted a strong taste for army life,
and, disliking
cavalry service, sought and
obtained the position of first
lieutenant in
the Seventy-ninth Indiana Volunteers, an
infantry
regiment of excellent
character.
On the day after I assumed command of
my company, which had no captain, we were