His case from the first was utterly hopeless; and his bodily
helplessness at times almost resembled catalepsy; yet his faculties were
quite clear. He could recognize his friends, and talk with them quite
composedly; cry or complaint never once issued from those rigid lips.
They sent him down to Scutari at last, not with any hope of his
recovery, but wishing to insure him all available comforts in his dying
moments. It was a rough passage (even on invalids the cruel Euxine had
little mercy) this, and the pain of transport through the few hundred
yards that were between the vessel and the hospital almost exhausted the
dregs of Royston's strength. When they laid him down on the bed allotted
to him, in a small room of the main ward, of which he was to be the sole
tenant, none of the surgeons could have told if they were dealing with
life or death. Work was so heavy on their hands at that dreadful season,
that they could not devote more than a certain space of precious time to
any one patient; so after trying all means and appliances of recovery in
vain, they left Keene for a while in his swoon. It seemed as if he would
never open his eyes again.
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