If, then, Captain Snider had shown great agility in seriously damaging the major, he now lost no time in bringing balms to heal his wounds, and rendering him such other services as his condition demanded.  The good woman, too, was not a whit behind any of them; for on regaining her equanimity, she busied herself bringing liquids and linen, and so bound the major’s head with plasters and bandages, (two of which were crossed over his nose,) as to make it present a pitiful picture.  Indeed his whole stock of valor was gone, and no one would have recognized the head with the two little eyes blinking through the cross bands as that of so renowned a military man as Major Roger Sherman Potter was known to be.  He now thanked heaven that it was no worse; and having asked several questions concerning the safety of his horse and pig, said, he verily believed greatness was better illustrated in what a man suffered than in what he did on the field of battle—­an opinion which seems to be largely shared by the adventurous heroes of this day, since the more they are vanquished the more they value their own greatness.  Notwithstanding this, it must be confessed he had a slight misgiving as to whether his military dignity remained undamaged, since the blows were inflicted with a club, and not a sword.  And, again, it afforded him consolation to think that the greatest men known to history had suffered great rebuffs while doing the world service.

The Two Marys was now well in shore, and being apprehensive lest the major’s condition should take an unlucky turn, Captain Luke resolved to steer for Tarpaulin Cove, where the aid of a physician could be called in, if necessary, and also a fresh stock of pumpkin pies procured.  For though the major had been got nicely into his berth, his dosing was accompanied with sudden spasms, arising from acute pain.

The sloop now continued on her course without anything remarkable occurring, and arrived at Tarpaulin Cove about nine o’clock on the following morning.  And, notwithstanding the major was up and apparently quite comfortable, for he was suffering most from the wounds in his dignity, he refused either to go on shore, or to have a physician called to dress his wounds.  Nor did he lisp a single word about having resided at the Cove not many years ago, where he pursued the business of a dealer in melons and onions, which he suddenly abandoned, whether for want of success or otherwise, was not generally known among his creditors, who had remained ignorant of his whereabouts up to this day, though it was more than once given out, that he had taken to the trade of a “critic of books,” and was in the employ of a New York publisher.