.

"Horrible sort of person the doctor, eh? But you didn't look like that
when I tackled your wounds the other day. But if you people will fight,
the surgeon must be ready. Oh, let's see: you were up at the
cross-trees, Mr Herrick, with your glass, and saw all. Will there be
much work for me to do?"

"I don't know, sir," I said, trying hard to speak quietly. "I couldn't
see much for the smoke. I hope not."

"So do I, boy, heartily. I don't mind the wounds so long as they're not
too bad. It's painful to have fine strong lads like ours slip through
one's fingers. But we must do our best. Any Chinese prisoners? Sure
to be, I suppose."

"I should think so, sir."

"And wounded. Well, if there are, you three lads ought to come and be
my body-guard with your dirks. Like to see the operations, I daresay?"

"Ugh!" I said, with a shudder.

"Bah! Don't act like a great girl, Herrick," said the doctor
scornfully. "You would never have done for a doctor, sir. I never
shudder at the worst cases."

"But then you are hardened, sir," said Barkins.

"Hardened be hanged, sir!" cried the doctor indignantly. "A clever
surgeon gets more and more softened every time he operates, more
delicate in his touches, more exact in his efforts to save a limb, or
arrange an injury so that it will heal quickly. Hardened, indeed! Why,
to judge from your faces, any one would think surgery was horrible,
instead of one of the greatest pleasures in life."

"What, cutting and bandaging wounds, and fishing for bullets?" blurted
out Smith; "why, sir, I think it's hideous."

"And I think you are an impertinent young coxcomb, sir," cried the
doctor indignantly. "Hideous, indeed! Why it's grand."

He looked round at us as if seeking for confirmation of his words, but
neither spoke.

"Hideous? horrible?" he said, taking off his glasses and thrusting his
hand into his pocket for his handkerchief to wipe them, but bringing out
something soft and white, which proved to be a piece of lint. "Oh, I do
call it cool. If there's anything hideous it's your acts, sir; having
those thundering guns fired, to send huge shells shivering and
shattering human beings to pieces for the doctor to try and mend; your
horrible chops given with cutlasses and the gilt-handled swords you are
all so proud of wearing--insolent, bragging, showy tools that are not to
be compared with my neat set of amputating knives in their mahogany
case. These are to d