The canoe soon glided alongside of one of the wharves, and the Indians disappeared in the streets.
With us there was a Doctor of Physic:
In all this world ne was there none him like,
To speak of physic and of surgery.
* * * * *
He knew the cause of every malady,
Were it of cold, or hot, or moist, or dry,
And where engendered, and of what humor:
He was a very perfect practiser.
The cause y know, and of his harm the root,
Anon he gave to the sick man his boot.
The first care of the faithful Peena or Esther, was to seek the doctor. She found him at home, and was instantly admitted to his presence.
“Queen Esther,” he exclaimed, the moment he saw her, “is it thou? Welcome, descendant of a line of kings. Would’st like some cider?” He spoke the word “cider” like the Indians, with a rising inflection on the last syllable. It was an offer no Indian could resist, and the squaw answered simply in the affirmative. From a pitcher of the grateful beverage, which shortly before had been brought into the room, and which, indeed, suggested the offer, the doctor filled a foaming glass, and the squaw was not long in draining its contents, after which she delivered herself of her errand.
“Esther,” exclaimed the doctor, rising and hastening to collect his instruments and medicine pouch, “thou hast circumvented me. Why did you not tell me before? Here have I been pouring cider into your royal gullet, when I should have hastened to take a bullet out of some plebeian carcass. Can you tell me the name of the wounded man?”
The squaw shook her head, and only said, “Esther not know.”
By this time his preparations were completed, which he had not allowed the conversation to interrupt, and closely followed by the woman, he hastened to the wharf. Here casting an eye to the flys that waved from the masts of some of the vessels, and observing the wind was fair, he rejected her offer to take him in the canoe, and throwing himself into a little sail-boat, was soon busily engaged in untying the sails. While thus employed a voice saluted his ears: