For twenty-four hours after the operation the doctors were not at all certain that their patient would live, nor did their anxiety end at that time. The abscess was of long growth, the wound had to be made a terrible one, and there was great danger of blood poisoning. Mr. Taft rallied but a second operation was necessary. By the time I reached Manila he was well on the way to recovery, though even then there was no prospect of his being able to move for many weeks to come.

He used to lie on his cot in the hospital and recite to his visitors a verse of Kipling’s which he thought fitted his case exactly: