Chapter 24

Dedicated To The College Of Physicians And Surgeons

By this time Samoa's wounded arm was in such a state, that amputation
became necessary. Among savages, severe personal injuries are, for
the most part, accounted but trifles. When a European would be taking
to his couch in despair, the savage would disdain to recline.

More yet. In Polynesia, every man is his own barber and surgeon,
cutting off his beard or arm, as occasion demands. No unusual thing,
for the warriors of Varvoo to saw off their own limbs, desperately
wounded in battle. But owing to the clumsiness of the instrument
employed--a flinty, serrated shell--the operation has been known to
last several days. Nor will they suffer any friend to help them;
maintaining, that a matter so nearly concerning a warrior is far
better attended to by himself. Hence it may be said, that they
amputate themselves at their leisure, and hang up their tools when
tired. But, though thus beholden to no one for aught connected with
the practice of surgery, they never cut off their own heads, that
ever I heard; a species of amputation to which, metaphorically
speaking, many would-be independent sort of people in civilized lands
are addicted.

Samoa's operation was very summary. A fire was kindled in the little
caboose, or cook-house, and so made as to produce much smoke. He then
placed his arm upon one of the windlass bitts (a short upright
timber, breast-high), and seizing the blunt cook's ax would have
struck the blow; but for some reason distrusting the precision of his
aim, Annatoo was assigned to the task. Three strokes, and the
limb, from just above the elbow, was no longer Samoa's; and he saw
his own bones; which many a centenarian can not say. The very
clumsiness of the operation was safety to the subject. The weight and
bluntness of the instrument both deadened the pain and lessened the
hemorrhage. The wound was then scorched, and held over the smoke of
the fire, till all signs of blood vanished. From that day forward it
healed, and troubled Samoa but little.

But shall the sequel be told? How that, superstitiously averse to
burying in the sea the dead limb of a body yet living; since in that
case Samoa held, that he must very soon drown and follow it; and how,
that equally dreading to keep the thing near him, he at last hung it
aloft from the topmast-stay; where yet it was suspended, bandaged
over and over in cerements. The hand that must have locked many
others in friendly clasp, or smote a foe, was no food, thought Samoa,
for fowls of the air nor fishes of the sea.

Now, which was Samoa? The dead arm swinging high as Haman? Or the
living trunk below? Was the arm severed from the body, or the body
from the arm? The residual part