for the same reason, and at last so
excruciating did the pain become that I begged and prayed to have my
leg cut off. The idea of losing it, so horrible to me a few months
previous, was altogether overpowered by the frightful torture, which
night and day it now entailed upon me. I was again inspected about this
time by a stranger doctor, and immediately after he left, my leg was
lanced and poulticed. But the remedy came too late, for the time had
come when I must either sacrifice my life, or give life a chance by the
sacrifice of my leg. My readers can imagine for themselves what it must
be to have the flesh cut, and the bone sawn through at the thickest
part of the thigh. I fear I cannot give a more lucid description of the
surgical operation. I was put under the influence of chloroform, which
had to be administered a second time before the surgeons had completed
their work, and with the exception of a momentary pang in the interval
between the doses, I felt no pain whatever. The operation was skilfully
performed, and occupied altogether about half-an-hour.

I was removed from the large ward, and placed in a small room by
myself, with a prisoner to wait upon me, and for three or four days
after the operation my life was despaired of by the medical officers.
Strangely enough I did not feel so hopeless about my case. I felt a
whispering within that seemed to tell me I should not die then. With
the exception of the pain caused by the first few dressings of the
wound, and a sharp violent twinge that seized the stump on my going to
sleep, causing it to start some inches from the pillow on which it
rested, I did not now experience anything to compare with my previous,
sufferings. The head surgeon also relaxed from his customary silent,
stingy, and cold hearted manner, and became generous, and even kind to
me. I had been in the habit of writing to my friends that I felt
comfortable enough under the circumstances, in order to keep up their
spirits about me, but now I could and did express genuine feelings of
gratitude, and until I wrote a letter to the late Mr. Cobden, more than
a year afterwards, I believe I remained a favourite with the chiefs of
the establishment. I had now become a cripple for life, and as I
reflected upon all that these words involved in relation to my future
history, and the circumstances which had entailed upon me a loss so
irretrievable, I thought, amongst other things how easily, and still
how fatally