ing. What nights! I lay upon straw, in a room lighted by a single candle, uttering long groans, and having for my whole consolation and assistance only an old grenadier, who, sitting upon a chair at the foot of my bed, looked at me in silence. Sometimes, however, being either touched by my sufferings, or wearied with my cries, he rose and went for the Assistant-Surgeon; the latter came with a stew-pan in his hand, into which he put some bread and water, boiled them, made a poultice, and applied it to my hand. My surgeon contrived a more ingenious remedy, which was bathing my hand in warm water. He was, nevertheless, so impatient, that he spoke about amputating my arm, and he would have perhaps cut short all difficulties in this manner, if Mons. Megnau, a Frenchman and Surgeon-Major in our army, had not fortunately arrived with a Russian passport at Radzyn. This gentleman, who was sent to us on purpose by the National Council of Warsaw, caused me to be bled, and gave me prescriptions, which, at least, dimin-
