“Is it General Crawfurd, then, that is wounded, sir?” said I, eagerly.
Picton paused for a moment, while, with an effort, he controlled his features into their stern and impassive expression, then added hurriedly and almost harshly:—
Yes, sir; badly wounded through the arm and in the lung. He mentioned you to the notice of the commander-in-chief, and your application for leave is granted. In fact, you are to have the distinguished honor of carrying back despatches. There, now; you had better join your brigade.”
“Could I not see my general once more? It may be for the last time.”
“No, sir!” sternly replied Picton. “Lord Wellington believes you under arrest. It is as well he should suppose you obeyed his orders.”
There was a tone of sarcasm in these words that prevented my reply; and muttering my gratitude for his well-timed and kindly interference in my behalf, I bowed deeply and turned away.
“I say, sir!” said Picton, as he returned towards the church, “should anything befall,—that is, if, unfortunately, circumstances should make you in want and desirous of a staff appointment, remember that you are known to General Picton.”
Downcast and depressed by the news of my poor general, I wended my way with slow and uncertain steps towards the rampart. A clear, cold, wintry sky and a sharp, bracing air made my wound, slight as it was, more painful, and I endeavored to reach the reserves, where I knew the hospital-staff had established, for the present, their quarters. I had not gone far when, from a marauding party, I learned that my man Mike was in search of me through the plain. A report of my death had reached him, and the poor fellow was half distracted.
Longing anxiously to allay his fears on my account, which I well knew might lead him into any act of folly or insanity, I pressed forward; besides—shall I confess it?—amidst the manifold thoughts of sorrow and affliction which weighed me down, I could not divest myself of the feeling that so long as I wore my present absurd costume, I could be nothing but an object of laughter and ridicule to all who met me.
I had not long to look for my worthy follower, for I soon beheld him cantering about the plain. A loud shout brought him beside me; and truly the poor fellow’s delight was great and sincere. With a thousand protestations of his satisfaction, and reiterated assurances of what he would not have done to the French prisoners if anything had happened me, we took our way together towards the camp.