Page 121 - A Jacobite Exile

time in hot water, but was obliged to cut off some of his hair, in order to
remove the bandage. As he examined the wound, Charlie was astounded to

hear him mutter to himself:

"It is a mighty nate clip you have got, my boy; and, if your skull had not
been a thick one, it is lying out there on the turf you would be."

Charlie burst into a fit of laughter.

"So you are English, too," he exclaimed, as he looked up into the surgeon's
face.

"At laste Irish, my boy," the doctor said, as surprised as Charlie had been.
"To think we should have been talking Swedish to each other, instead of

our native tongue. And what is your name? And what is it you are doing
here, as a Swede, at all?"

"My name is Charles Carstairs. I come from Lancashire, just on the borders
of Westmoreland. My father is a Jacobite, and so had to leave the country.

He went over to Sweden, and I, with some friends of his, got commissions."

"Then our cases are pretty much alike," the doctor said. "I had gone through

Dublin University, and had just passed as a surgeon, when King James
landed. It didn't much matter to me who was king, but I thought it was a

fine opportunity to study gunshot wounds, so I joined the royal army, and
was at the battle of the Boyne. I had plenty of work with wounds, early in
the day, but when, after the Irish had fairly beat the Dutchman back all day,

they made up their minds to march away at night, I had to lave my patients
and be off too. Then I was shut up in Limerick; and I was not idle there, as

you may guess. When at last the surrender came, I managed to slip away,
having no fancy for going over with the regiments that were to enter the
service of France. I thought I could have gone back to Dublin, and that no

one would trouble about me; but someone put them up to it, and I had to go
without stopping to ask leave. I landed at Bristol, and there, for a time, was

nearly starving.