the body again in a piece of the sail-cloth,
and, lifting it up in his arms, he carried it
down to the shore. He caused a hole to be
dug, and laid the body in the grave himself.
When it was covered up, he erected a rude
cross over the spot. After that, the loading
went on without further hindrance.

Having paid the Indians, and given them a
cask of brandy, Doctor Pablo went to the ship
with the last cargo of water, and there—as
he had taken little or no refreshment during
the last twenty-four hours—his work being
now done, he began to feel exhausted. He was
exhausted in more senses than one, for he was
near the end of his worldly as well as of his
bodily resources. All his goods and the small
hoards that he had made, were either
destroyed or stolen; he owned nothing but
what he had upon him—a check shirt,
canvas trousers, and a calico waistcoat, with a
small fortune of thirty-two piastres in his
pockets. When he had recovered from his
faintness and had taken a little food, he
bethought him of an English captain in the
Bay who owed him a hundred piastres; as
the vessels were all on the point of departure,
he must set off in a small boat at once to get
them. Now this captain, one of the perfidious
sons of Albion I am sorry to say, replied to
the young doctor's demand that he owed him
nothing, and threatened to throw him
overboard. So, in sooth he was obliged to tumble
back into his boat, and return to the
Cultivateur as he could. But then, how could
he?—for the night was become pitch dark,
and a violent contrary wind had arisen.

The night was spent in idly tossing on the
waves; but, when morning came, and he
got on board his ship, other difficulties
disappeared. The Spanish authorities had
quelled the riots, and the priests in the
suburbs of Civita had threatened excommunication
against any one who attempted Doctor
Pablo's life; for, as a son of Æsculapius, his
life was to be particularly cherished. The
French ships remained at anchor; and when,
soon afterwards, an Indian came on board
the Cultivateur to invite the doctor to his
home near the mountains of Marigondon, ten
leagues off, he had leisure to go, and went.

For three weeks, he lived happily as this
Indian's guest, and then an express
messenger came with a letter from the mate of his
ship, who had commanded it since the death
of the old captain, informing him that the
Cultivateur was about to sail for France,
and that he must make haste to come on board.
The letter had been some days written, and
when Doctor Pablo reached Manilla, there was
his vessel to be seen, with Its outspread sails,
almost a speck on the horizon! His first
thought was to give chace in a canoe, the
Indians saying that if the breeze did not
freshen they might overtake the ship. But
they demanded twelve piastres on the spot,
and only twenty-five were then lying in
the doctor's pockets. What was to be
done? If they failed to overtake the vessel,
what figure was he to make in a town where
he knew nobody, with nothing but a check
shirt, canvas trousers, calico waistcoat, and
thirteen piastres? Suddenly, he resolved to
let the Cultivateur go, and keep what
money he had, to set himself up as a
practitioner of physic in Manilla.

But Manilla, as the world knows, is a gay
place in which there is much display of
wealth and carriages, and of Spanish colonial
frippery and fashion. How should he begin?
His stars provided for him in the first instance.
Before he left the shore on his way back into
Manilla, he met a young European, with
whom he exchanged confidences. This young
European was another ship doctor, who had
himself thought of settling in the Philippines,
but was called home by family affairs;
he confirmed Monsieur de la Gironière in his
purpose. There was a difficulty about his
dress; it was not quite the costume in which
to pay physician's visits. "Never mind that,
my dear fellow," said his friend. "I can
furnish you with all you want: a new suit of
clothes and six magnificent lancets. You
shall have them at cost price." The bargain
was settled; the departing doctor turned
back to his inn, out of which Doctor Pablo
presently issued fully equipped. He had a
most respectable and professional set of
clothes; only they were too long for him in every
respect, and everywhere too wide. He had six
lancets in his pocket, and his little calico
waistcoat packed up in his hat. He had paid
for his equipment twenty-four piastres, so
he came out into the streets of Manilla
with just one piastre in his hand, and the
whole world of the Philippines before him.

A triumphant idea presently occurred to
him. There was a Spanish captain, Juan
Porras, known to be almost blind. He would
go and offer him his services. Where did
he live? A hundred people in the streets
were asked in vain. At last an Indian
shopkeeper observed, "If Señor Don Juan is a
captain, he will be known at any guard-
house." To a guard-house Doctor Pablo went,
and thence was at once conducted by a soldier to
the captain's dwelling. Night was then closing.

Don Juan Porras was an Andalusian, and
a jolly fellow. He was in the act of covering
his eyes with enormous poultices.

"Señor capitan," said the young Breton,
"I am a doctor and a learned oculist. I am
come to take care of you, and I am sure that
I know how to cure you."

"Quite enough," he replied; "every physician
in Manilla is an ape."

"That is just my opinion," said Doctor
Pablo; "and for that reason I have resolved to
come myself and practise in the Philippines."

"What countryman are you?"

"I am from France."

"A French physician! I am at your
service. Take my eyes; do what you will
with them."