“Well, my friend, if you had told me that you had kept Pat from getting hit, I might have taken it into consideration, whether, for the sake of Pat’s mother, it might not be my duty to return a man to his regiment who can’t walk across this hospital; but as, by your own account, you let him get hit, I think you’ll have to trust him without you, and wait here till you’re a little stronger;” and kindly patting him on the shoulder, he laughingly turned off.
Poor Shaw! It was a sense of duty—certainly not any feeling of ability to go—which led to the proposition; for as the hope departed, his strength went with it. He attempted to rise from his chair at the side of the bed, tottered, and would have fallen; but I saw it, sprang forward, caught him, and threw him backward on the bed, knowing I had not strength to support him.
“I didn’t mean to knock you down, Shaw, though it looks a good deal like it,” said I, as there was a general laugh, amongst those nearest to him, who witnessed the proceeding.
No answer. The effort had been too much for him—he had fainted. I called an orderly to bring me water quickly, and bathed his temples from the cologne bottle in my pocket, but he did not revive.
“What’s the fuss?” said one, coming up behind me.
“Miss —— has knocked the breath out of Shaw, that’s all.”
“And he’s knocked the color out of her; she’s whiter than he is.”
“Don’t talk; get me some water,” said I, hastily.
“La! miss, you’re not really minding, are you? He always has them turns when he tries to sit up; and he’s gone a good bit, and we don’t mind, he’ll come round; he’s been fretting at little Pat, there, going without him, and wanted to go back to his regiment with him. Fine hand at a march, wouldn’t you be, eh, Shaw?” said he, as the latter opened his eyes.
With rough kindness, he put his hand under Shaw’s head, raised it, and held the water to his lips. Shaw roused himself, looked round, and seemed gradually recalling what had occurred.