There was a British surgeon, of the name of Thomson, who resolved to separate himself from all his friends, to stay behind to take care of his wounded enemies. We may fancy that he had a long struggle in his mind before he could decide upon this generous act. Selfishness might whisper to him many reasons for leaving the poor Russians to their fate.
“What!” we can imagine some friend saying to the surgeon, “would you remain here alone in the midst of enemies, some of whom, it is said, have even fired at Englishmen who were bringing them relief. If the Tartars should attack you, who will defend you? You cannot depend upon these wounded Russians. Then think of the labour which you are undertaking. No one man can possibly dress the wounds of seven hundred; you can only help a few, or die yourself of fatigue. No, be wise; leave these wretched men to the chance of some of their own people coming to assist them; you know that there is not one amongst them who would not have willingly killed you, had it been in his power.”
Dr. Thomson may have heard words such as these, but they did not change his generous resolution. The British army marched away; he and his soldier-servant remained behind, saw their friends and comrades all disappear in the distance, and then turned to their noble but sickening work,—binding up the ghastly wounds of their enemies.
Do you not think that Dr. Thomson deserved a rich reward for all this? I do not doubt that he has received a reward, but not from man, for his labours of love shortened his life. In a few days the generous, self-devoted surgeon followed to the grave the brave soldiers who died fighting for their Queen. And shall not his name be honoured as well as theirs? We trust that he died prepared for the great change, full of faith and hope as well as charity; and we may also trust that some of those whose lives he had been the means of saving lived to know their Saviour, and to serve God upon earth, and that they will one day meet their generous friend in heaven.
But it is not of Dr. Thomson that I would speak to you now, but of One of whose mercy and love all the noblest deeds of his servants are but as a faint, dim shadow.
And first let me ask you, dear child, Do you know what _sin_ is, that from which all sorrow comes? It is sin that causes cruelty and strife in the world. It is _sin_ that gives a worse wound than any sword or cannon-ball; for they may destroy the body, but _sin destroys the soul_.