Part 17 (1/2)

On reaching home he took up a letter that was addressed to him by Mr.

M., senior, in which he spoke of his son and his son's evil habits in a very fond and parental way, making all sorts of excuses for a low and disgusting indulgence that admits of no excuse, except that the person exhibiting it had lost all self-control, which might with equal propriety be put forth to defend any other crime. The writer entreated that my brother would use representation, persuasion, and every moral means in aid of his medical treatment, in order to reform as well as cure his unfortunate son. He then explained his son's position in the army. He said that, by means of family interest, he had got his son gazetted for a staff appointment, but that it had not been taken up, in consequence of his son's sickness, which, through the kindness of the medical officer, my brother would find put down in the case as _fever_.

'In his private letter to you,' continued the old gentleman, 'I cannot tell what he has said, but whatever this may be, I should esteem it a lasting obligation if you would kindly put down in your official report the same disease, _fever_;' and that if my brother would be so kind as to do this, his son could be sent home on sick certificate for three years without losing his claim to a staff appointment, and that not only he, but the whole family would be for ever grateful.

Long before my brother got to the end of this precious epistle, he felt so indignant and disgusted with the doting and unprincipled old writer, that he more than once determined to return the letter in a blank envelope. He did not, however, act on his first thought; he remembered old Mr. M.'s gray hairs, and that he was a father who was wrapped up in his only son. My brother contented himself with acknowledging the old gentleman's letter as briefly as possible, adding that he would do all that was in his power for his son.

He then glanced over the official case, which was so drawn up as to afford little information as to the state of the patient. This was of no consequence; what my brother had seen was quite enough. The private letter was a degree more truthful; but the facts were so softened, and so many suppositions were introduced in order to account for the symptoms, that it was, or appeared to be, more calculated to conceal the real condition of the patient than to make it evident. My brother thought of Talleyrand's _mot_ regarding language, smiled, and then sat down to breakfast with his wife.

This narrative not being either a medical treatise or report, my brother omits all details of the treatment of the case. It must suffice to say that he did his best, and at first with such success that hope of reform began to be entertained. It was, however, a delusive hope. The patient broke all his promises, secretly obtained from the Pa.r.s.ee shopkeeper a fresh supply of beer and brandy, and again reduced himself to much the same state as that in which he was first found. The intoxicating liquids were again taken from him, placed under lock and key, and then two Sepoys were placed on guard night and day at Mr. M.'s bungalow to prevent the entrance of anything whatever not ordered by my brother. Mr. M., on finding himself thus forcibly controlled, was at first so furious and violent that it became necessary to employ peons to restrain him and prevent him from making his escape.

When he found that neither threats, nor force, nor bribes would avail either to procure him liquor or favour his escape from control, he became sullen and morose, and refused even to speak in answer to questions. Lieutenant Mitchel had all along felt a great interest in the case, and had furnished the guard in the frankest and readiest manner.

Very early one morning he met my brother en route to visit Mr. M. 'I'll go with you,' said Mitchel, 'if you have no objection.' 'None in the world,' returned my brother. 'You have seen the patient several times; you saw him when I first took charge of him, and you know how persistently he has destroyed his chances of getting better.' 'Yes,'

replied Mitchel, 'he has done all you say; the madness for drink has got hold of him, and until this rage or madness moderates or pa.s.ses away for the time, I fear you will get no good of him; but still, I pity the poor devil!' 'Oh, pity him as much as you please,' returned my brother, 'so long as you don't give him anything to drink.' This brought the speakers to M.'s house. They went upstairs almost together, and as they entered his room they perceived that he was lying on his cot in his s.h.i.+rt and long drawers.

As my brother approached him to feel his pulse and skin, his features a.s.sumed a very ugly scowl, and at the same time he put his right hand under his pillow. This action my brother did not notice at the instant, but Mitchel did, and as quick as light pinned M.'s hand with both his. A struggle ensued; my brother held down M.'s left hand while Mitchel drew out the right, grasping a large carving-knife, which he had secreted under his pillow. It was quickly taken from him by the superior force present, and although he made desperate efforts to disengage his right hand, Mitchel's double grip was too firm for him. He kept his hand on the bed while the others unclasped the fingers, thus no one was wounded.

It was clear that Mitchel's quick eye and movement had saved my brother's life. Speaking of the affair afterwards, Mitchel said: 'I did not like the look he gave at you, and when, in reply to your request to let you feel his pulse, he put his hand under the pillow, I suspected something, and luckily, on the impulse of the moment, pinned his hand.'

'Luckily indeed for me,' said my brother; 'six inches of cold steel under one's ribs is not a pleasant experience at any time of day; yet I should certainly have had to make it this fine morning but for you. I cannot well thank you; your own manly heart will do it for me better than my poor words can.'

'Halt, dress!' said Mitchel; 'none of your heroics. I'm right glad, though, that none of us got hurt; that's a very ugly sort of weapon, that long pointed knife, at close quarters especially.'

All this pa.s.sed in less than two minutes; then the maniac, for such the man was at the time, was carefully secured by soft bandages, his head was shaved, and cold lotion constantly applied to it. Every knife and fork in the house was kept out of the room, he was allowed no food but what he could take with a spoon, and a constant guard was kept in the room as well as at the door.

As Mitchel and my brother were leaving the poor victim of alcoholic stimulation, G. came up to them to inquire how M. was going on. Poor G.

turned quite pale on learning how near murder had been to them that morning, and specially near to my brother. However, he soon rallied, and, after a few words of congratulation, he said: 'This day week I hold you both engaged to dine with me; I mean to give a dinner in honour of Mitchel for this morning's work.'

'All right,' said Mitchel, 'I'll be most happy to go and punish your champagne; but don't make mountains of molehills; don't exhibit me as a sort of wild animal of a new species just caught; don't do that, pray.

The Doctor was going to launch out into something, but I managed to stop him, as I must try and stop you.'

'Very well,' said G., 'as you are to be the king of the feast, you must have your own way, and we won't say one word as to why it is given. We won't even ask if a knife has a sharp point or a keen edge.'

'For fear of its wounding or cutting me,' said Mitchel. 'That's capital; I always thought you a comical blade.'

'What, Mitchel, at it again? You are, I see, determined to try the temper of the blade,' observed my brother.

'Oh, stop that fellow with his heroics and his _ribaldry_. When he begins, there's no chance for me.'

'Why so cranky, Mitchel? But for you, I should not this morning have a _rib all dry_.'

'That shows you all the more ungrateful. You won't let a fellow have a chance.'

'Quite the contrary,' said my brother; 'it is you that won't let a fellow have a chance. M. tried hard to get one at me this morning, but you wouldn't let him have it.'

'Good-morning, good-morning,' said Mitchel; 'that fellow's got tongue enough for a dozen. I'm off.'

'No, no,' said G.; 'come and breakfast with me. I can't ask the Doctor; he has to go to his wife. How I pity him! But, poor fellow! he can't help it now.'

'Well, don't be envious of your neighbours, G.,' returned my brother; 'it looks strongly as if you were determined to follow my good example.'

And so the trio, with jest and raillery, and in high good humour with all the world and themselves, parted.

Great was the stir, and much was the commotion, in the little community of Tollicherry, when it was known that my brother had been in such imminent peril, and that his life had been saved by the gallantry and prompt.i.tude of Lieutenant Mitchel. The story had to be told over again and again, and the questions to be answered respecting the occurrence could not be enumerated. At last, like every other nine days' wonder, people began to get tired of it, and the dinner to the hero of the tale came in its turn to occupy public attention.