Cuticle, now with his shirt sleeves rolled
up upon his withered arms, and knife in hand, and, finally, his eyes
settled in horror upon the skeleton, slowly vibrating and jingling
before him, with the slow, slight roll of the frigate in the water.

"I would advise perfect repose of your every limb, my man," said
Cuticle, addressing him; "the precision of an operation is often
impaired by the inconsiderate restlessness of the patient. But if you
consider, my good fellow," he added, in a patronising and almost
sympathetic tone, and slightly pressing his hand on the limb, "if you
consider how much better it is to live with three limbs than to die
with four, and especially if you but knew to what torments both sailors
and soldiers were subjected before the time of Celsus, owing to the
lamentable ignorance of surgery then prevailing, you would certainly
thank God from the bottom of your heart that _your_ operation has been
postponed to the period of this enlightened age, blessed with a Bell, a
Brodie, and a Lally. My man, before Celsus's time, such was the general
ignorance of our noble science, that, in order to prevent the excessive
effusion of blood, it was deemed indispensable to operate with a
red-hot knife"--making a professional movement toward the thigh--"and
pour scalding oil upon the parts"--elevating his elbow, as if with a
tea-pot in his hand--"still further to sear them, after amputation had
been performed."

"He is fainting!" said one of his mess-mates; "quick! some water!" The
steward immediately hurried to the top-man with the basin.

Cuticle took the top-man by the wrist, and feeling it a while,
observed, "Don't be alarmed, men," addressing the two mess-mates;
"he'll recover presently; this fainting very generally takes place."
And he stood for a moment, tranquilly eyeing the patient.

Now the Surgeon of the Fleet and the top-man presented a spectacle
which, to a reflecting mind, was better than a church-yard sermon on
the mortality of man.

Here was a sailor, who four days previous, had stood erect--a pillar of
life--with an arm like a royal-mast and a thigh like a windlass. But
the slightest conceivable finger-touch of a bit of crooked trigger had
eventuated in stretching him out, more helpless than an hour-old babe,
with a blasted thigh, utterly drained of its brawn. And who was it that
now stood over him like a superior being, and, as if clothed himself
with the attributes of immortality, indifferent