_ CHAPTER FORTY. A BIT OF SURGERY
"Oh, Gwyn, my dear boy," cried Mrs Pendarve, who was picking flowers for the supper-table as the boys came up to the gate, "what is the matter?"
"Grip's legs broken," said the boy, abruptly. "Where's father?"
"In the vinery, my dear. What are you going to do? Let me see if--"
"No, no, mother, we'll manage," said Gwyn; "come along, Joe."
They hurried down the garden, and up to where the sloping glass structure stood against the wall, from out of which came the sound of the Colonel's manly voice, as he trolled out a warlike ditty in French, with a chorus of "Marchons! Marchons!" and at every word grapeshot fell to the ground, for the Colonel, in spite of the suggestions of war, was peacefully engaged, being seated on the top of a pair of steps thinning out the grapes which hung from the roof.
"Here, father, quick!" cried Gwyn, as they entered the vinery.
"Eh? Hullo! What's the matter?"
"Grip's been on the man-engine and got his fore-legs crushed."
"Dear me! Poor old dog!" said the Colonel, descending from the ladder and sticking his long scissors like a dagger through the bottom button-hole of his coat. "Then we must play the part of surgeon, my boy. Not the first time, Joe. Clap the lid on the tank."
The wooden cover was placed upon the galvanised-iron soft-water tank, and poor Grip, who looked wistfully up in the Colonel's eyes, was lifted out and laid carefully upon the top, while the Colonel took off his coat and turned up his sleeves in the most business-like manner.
"I remember out at Bongay Wandoon, boys, after a sharp fight with a lot of fanatical Ghazis, who came up as I was alone with my company, we had ten poor fellows cut and hacked about and no surgeon within a couple of hundred miles, which meant up there in the mountains at least a week before we could get help. It was all so unexpected, no fighting being supposed to be possible, that I was regularly taken by surprise when the wretches had been driven off, and I found myself there with the ten poor fellows on my hands. I was only a young captain then, and I felt regularly knocked over; but, fortunately, I'd a good sergeant, and we went over to my lieutenant, who had been one of the first to go down. But he wouldn't have a cut touched till the men had been seen to. I'm afraid my surgery was a very bungling affair, but the sergeant and I did our best, and we didn't lose a patient. Our surgeon made sad fun of it all when he saw what we had done, and he snarled and found fault, and abused me to his heart's content; but some time after he came and begged my pardon, and shook hands, and asked me to let him show me all he could in case I should ever be in such a fix again. Consequently, I often used to go and help him when we had men cut down. I liked learning, and it pleased the men, too, and taught me skill. Poor old dog, then; no snapping. The poor fellow's legs are regularly crushed, as if he had been hit with an iron bar used like a scythe."
"Crushed in the man-engine, father," said Gwyn.
"Ah, yes, that must have done it. Well, Gwyn, my boy, a doctor would say here in a case like this--'amputation. I can't save the limbs.'"
"Oh, father, it is so horrible!"
"Yes, my boy, but you want to save the poor fellow's life."
"Can't anything be done, sir?" said Joe.
"Humph! Well, we might try," said the Colonel, as he tenderly manipulated the dog's legs, the animal only whining softly, and seeming to understand that he was being properly treated. "Yes, we will try. Here, Joe Jollivet, go and ask Mrs Pendarve to give you about half-a-dozen yards of linen for a bandage, and bring back a big needle and thick thread."
"Yes, sir," and Joe hurried out; but soon poked his head in again. "Don't get it all done, sir, till I've come back. I want to see."
"Can't till you come, boy. Off with you. Now, Gwyn, fill the watering-pot. I'll lift the lid of the tank."
The pot was filled and the dog placed back again.
"Now fetch that bag of plaster-of-Paris from the tool-house," said the Colonel.
This was soon done, and a portion of the white cement poured out into a flower-pot.
"Is that good healing stuff, father?" asked Gwyn.
"No, but it will help. Wait a bit, and you'll see," said the Colonel; and he once more softly felt the dog's crushed and splintered legs, shaking his head gravely the while.
"Don't you think you can save his legs, father?" asked Gwyn.
"I'm very much in doubt, my boy," said the Colonel, knitting his brows; but dogs have so much healthy life in them, and heal up so rapidly, that we'll try. Now, then, how long is that boy going to be with those bandages? Oh, here he is.
Gwyn opened the door, and Joe hurried in.
"Hah! that will do," said the Colonel; and cutting off two pieces a yard long, he thrust them into the watering-pot, soaked them, wrung them out, and then rolled both in the flower-pot amongst the plaster-of-Paris.
Then washing his hands, he took one of the injured legs, laid the broken bones in as good order as he could; and as Gwyn held the bandage ready, the leg was placed in it and bound round and round and drawn tight, the dog not so much as uttering a whimper, while after a few turns, the limp lump seemed to grow firmer. Then the bandaging was continued till all the wet linen was used, when the Colonel well covered the moist material with dry plaster, which was rapidly absorbed; and taking a piece of the dry bandage, thoroughly bound up the limb, threaded the big needle, and sewed the end of the linen firmly, and then the dog was turned right over for the other leg to be attacked.
"Well, he is a good, patient beast," said Gwyn, proudly. "But you don't think he's dying, do you, father?" he added anxiously.
"Speak to him, and try," said the Colonel.
Gwyn spoke, and the dog responded by tapping the cistern lid with his tail very softly, and then whined piteously, for the Colonel in placing the splintered bones as straight as he could was inflicting a great deal of pain.
"Can't help it, Canis, my friend," said the Colonel. "If you are to get better I want it to be with straight legs, and not to have you a miserable odd-legged cripple. There, I shall soon be done. That bandage is too dry, Gwyn; moisten it again. Wring it out. That's right; now dip it in the plaster."
"What's that for, sir?" said Joe, who was looking on eagerly.
"What do you think?" replied the Colonel. "Now, Gwyn, right under, and hold it like a hammock while I lay the leg in. I'm obliged to hold it firmly to keep the bones in their places. Now, right over and tighten it. That's it. Round again. Now go on. Round and round. Well done. Now I'll finish. Well," he continued, as he took the ends of the bandage and braced the dog's leg firmly, "why do I use this nasty white plaster, Joe?"
"Because it will set hard and stiff round the broken leg."
"Good boy," said the Colonel, smiling, "take him up; Gwyn didn't see that."
"Yes I did, father; but I didn't like to bother you and speak."
"Then stop where you are, boy. Keep down, Joe; he behaved the better of the two. You are both right; the plaster and the linen will mould themselves as they dry to the shape of the dog's legs, and if we can keep him from trying to walk and breaking the moulds, Nature may do the rest. At all events, we will try. When the linen is firm, I'll bind splints of wood to them as well, so as to strengthen the plaster, though it is naturally very firm."
"It will be a job to keep him quiet, father," said Gwyn.
"I'm afraid so, my boy. Not, however, till the plaster sets; that cannot take very long, and we shall have to hold him down if it's necessary; but I don't think it will be. Poor fellow, he'll very likely go to sleep."
As he spoke, the Colonel was busily employed finishing the bandaging, and when this was done he stood thinking, while the dog lay quiet enough, blinking at those who had been operating upon him.
"We might secure his legs somehow," said the Colonel, thoughtfully; "for all our success depends upon the next hour."
But Grip solved the difficulty by stretching himself out on one side with his bandaged legs together, and, closing his eyes, went off fast asleep, with the boys watching him--the Colonel having gone into the house, for it had turned too dark for him to go on grape-thinning long before the canine surgery was at an end. _