The Romance of Modern Sieges. Gilliat Edward
delay – Operations without chloroform – The English retire – French troops arrive – Plunder – French officers kind, and protect Boothby – A private bent on loot beats a hasty retreat.
Captain Boothby, of the Royal Engineers, left behind him a diary of his experiences in Spain during part of the Peninsular War in 1809. It will help us to understand how much suffering war inflicts, and how much pain we have been saved by the inventions of modern science.
He tells us he had been provided with quarters in Talavera, at the house of Donna Pollonia di Monton, a venerable dame. She was the only person left in the house, the rest having fled to the mountains in fear lest the French should come and sack the city; for in the streets those who remained were shouting in their panic, “The French have taken the suburbs!” or “The British General is in full retreat!” or “O Dios! los Ingleses nos abandonan!” (“O God! the English are deserting us!”). The fact was that Wellesley was not sure if he could hold his ground at Talavera.
Captain Boothby went out one morning towards the enemy’s position; he was brought back in the evening on a bier by four men, his leg shattered by a musket-ball. The old lady threw up her hands when she saw him return.
“What!” she exclaimed, while the tears ran down her cheeks. “Can this be the same? This he whose cheeks in the morning were glowing with health? Blessed Virgin, see how white they are now!”
She made haste to prepare a bed.
“Oh, what luxury to be laid upon it, after the hours of pain and anxiety, almost hopeless, I had undergone! The surgeon, Mr. Bell, cut off my boot, and having examined the wound, said:
“‘Sir, I fear there is no chance of saving your leg, and the amputation must be above the knee.’
“He said the operation could not be performed until the morning, and went back to the hospital.
“I passed a night of excruciating pain. My groans were faint, because my body was exhausted with the three hours’ stumbling about in the woods. Daylight was ushered in by a roar of cannon so loud, so continuous, that I hardly conceived the wars of all the earth could produce such a wild and illimitable din. Every shot seemed to shake the house with increasing violence, and poor Donna Pollonia rushed in crying:
“‘They are firing the town!’
“‘No, no,’ said I; ‘don’t be frightened. Why should they fire the town? Don’t you perceive that the firing is becoming more distant?’”
So the poor lady became less distraught, and watched by him with sympathizing sorrow. But at length, finding the day advancing, his pains unabating, and no signs of any medical help coming, he tore a leaf from his pocket-book, and with a pencil wrote a note to the chief surgeon, Mr. Higgins, saying that, as he had been informed no time was to be lost in the amputation, he was naturally anxious that his case should be attended to. The messenger returned, saying that the surgeon could not possibly leave the hospital. He sent a second note, and a third, and towards ten o’clock a.m. the harrassed surgeon made his appearance.
“Captain Boothby,” said he, “I am extremely sorry that I could not possibly come here before, still more sorry that I only come now to tell you I cannot serve you. There is but one case of instruments. This I cannot bring from the hospital while crowds of wounded, both officers and men, are pressing for assistance.”
“I did but wish to take my turn,” said the Captain.
“I hope,” he added, “that towards evening the crowd will decrease, and that I shall be able to bring Mr. Gunning with me to consult upon your case.”
“Will you examine my wound, sir,” said Boothby, “and tell me honestly whether you apprehend any danger from the delay?”
He examined the leg, and said:
“No, I see nothing in this case from which the danger would be increased by waiting five or six hours.”
There was nothing for it but patience.
“I taxed my mind to make an effort, but pain, far from loosening his fangs at the suggestion of reason, clung fast, and taught me that, in spite of mental pride, he is, and must be, dreadful to the human frame.”
Mr. Higgins came to him about three o’clock, bringing with him Mr. Gunning and Mr. Bell, and such instruments as they might have occasion for.
Mr. Gunning sat down by his bedside, and made a formal exhortation: explained that to save the life it was necessary to part with the limb, and he required of him an effort of mind and a manly resolution.
“Whatever is necessary, that I am ready to bear,” said the Captain.
Then the surgeons, having examined his wound, went to another part of the room to consult, after which they withdrew – to bring the apparatus, as he imagined. Hours passed, and they did not return. His servant, Aaron, having sought Mr. Gunning, was told that he was too much occupied. This after having warned him that there was no time to be lost!
“Go, then,” said the Captain to Aaron – “go into the street, and bring me the first medical officer you happen to fall in with.”
He returned, bringing with him Mr. Grasset, surgeon of the 48th Regiment.
After examining the wound, Mr. Grasset declared that he was by no means convinced of the necessity of the amputation, and would not undertake the responsibility.
“But,” said the wounded man, “I suppose an attempt to save the leg will be attended with great danger.”
“So will the amputation,” he replied. “But we must hope for the best, and I see nothing to make your cure impossible. The bones, to be sure, are much shattered, and the leg is much mangled and swollen; but have you been bled, sir?”
“No,” said Captain Boothby.
Mr. Grasset conceived bleeding absolutely necessary, though he had already lost much, and at his request he bled him in the arm.
He guessed that Mr. Gunning’s departure proceeded from his conviction that a gangrene had already begun, and that it would be cruel to disturb his dying moments by a painful and fruitless operation.
As he had taken nothing but vinegar and water since his misfortune, his strength was exhausted, and the operation of bleeding was succeeded by an interval of unconsciousness. From this state he was roused by some one taking hold of his hand. It was his friend Dr. FitzPatrick.
“If I had you in London,” said he with a sigh, “I might attempt to save your limb; but amid the present circumstances it would be hopeless. I had been told that the amputation had been performed, else, ill as I could have been spared, I would have left the field and come to you.”
“Do you think you are come too late?” asked the Captain.
He said “No”; but he dissembled. At that time Boothby was under strong symptoms of lockjaw, which did not disappear until many hours after the operation. The doctor took a towel, and soaking it in vinegar and water, laid it on the wound, which gave much relief. He stayed with him till late, changing the lotion as often as needed. The operation was fixed for daylight on the morrow.
The patient passed another dismal night. At nine o’clock next morning FitzPatrick and Miller, Higgins and Bell, staff-surgeons, came to his bedside. They had put a table in the middle of the room, and placed on it a mattress. Then one of the surgeons came and exhorted him to summon his fortitude. Boothby told him he need not be afraid, and FitzPatrick said he could answer for him. They then carried him to the table and laid him on the mattress. Mr. Miller wished to place a handkerchief over his eyes, but he assured him that it was unnecessary; he would look another way.
“I saw that the knife was in FitzPatrick’s hand, which being as I wished, I averted my head.
“I will not shock the reader by describing the operation in detail, but as it is a common idea that the most painful part of an operation lies in sundering the bone, I may rectify an error by declaring that the only part of the process in which the pain comes up to the natural anticipation is the first incision round the limb, by which the skin is divided, the sensation of which