killed a young man in a quarrel growing out of a love affair, and been confined to the house seven months by wounds received in the same encounter. 'With his assistance I unwound the bloody handkerchief; as I proceeded I found my courage failing me, and as, with the last coil, a dead hand fell on mine, a shudder and a deep groan ran through the spectators, and I almost let the hand drop. It was cut off through the back above the knuckles, and the four fingers hung merely by the fleshy part of the thumb. The skin was drawn back, and showed on each side four bones protruding like the teeth of a skeleton. I joined them together, and as he drew up his arm, they jarred like the grating of teeth. I saw that the case was beyond my art. Possibly the hand might have been restored by sewing the skin together; but I believed that the only thing to be done, was to out it off entirely, and this I was not willing to do. Unable to give any further assistance, I wound it up again in the handkerchief. The young man had a mild and pleasing countenance; and as thankful for my ineffectual attempt as if I had really served him, told me not to give myself any more trouble, but return to bed; his mother and sister, with stifled sobs, hung over his head; his father retained the sternness of his manner, but it was easy to see that his heart was bleeding; and to me, a stranger, it was horrible to see a fine young man mutilated for life in a street-brawl.
As he told the story himself, he was walking with some of his friends, when he met one of the Espinozas from Guatimala, also with party of friends. The latter, who was known as a bully, approached them with an expression in Spanish about equivalent to the English one, "I'll give it to you." Chico answered, "No you won't," and immediately they drew their swords. Chico, in attempting to ward off a stroke, received it on the edge of his right hand. In passing through all the bones, its force was so much broken that it only cut the crown and rim of his hat. The loss of his hand had no doubt saved his life; for, if the whole force of the stroke had fallen on his head, it must have killed him; but the unfortunate young man, instead of being thankful for his escape, swore vengeance against Espinoza. The latter, as I afterwards learned, swore that the next time Chico should not escape with the loss of his hand; and, in all probability, when they meet again one of them will be killed.
All this time the uproar continued, shifting its location, with occasional reports of firearms; an aunt was wringing her hands because her son was out, and we had reason to fear a tragical night. We went to bed, but for a long time the noise in the street, the groans of poor Chico, and the sobbing of his mother and sister, kept us from sleeping.
