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When it had more or less ceased, I said: ‘Now, we must try to force this tincture into the puncture, and hope that it will penetrate to the source, and slow or stop the internal bleeding.’ I took a dried sheep’s stomach from my medicine chest. It had been kept supple with oil. I poured in some tincture and some boiling water, leaving a time for the heat to reduce, and putting the instrument in cold water to hasten this process. Then I applied the outlet to the puncture, and forced the liquid through with gentle pumping from my hands. The little girl was already breathing much better, and even gave me a small smile. We just had to hope that the internal bleeding would stop.
We left the effusive thanks of the grandmother, to continue our task. But soon darkness fell, and we could do no more. The light of lamps would not be good enough for our work. We returned to our lodgings, ate and drank a little, I cannot remember what, and went to sleep.
My own sleep was disturbed by nightmares about wounds even more terrible than those I had attempted to treat, with my rather rudimentary medical knowledge. In my dream, I stretched helplessly for a remedy, not being able to identify or find it, in face of a mutilated body.
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