“No, sir; but he cannot be far off now,” replied the man.
“Shall I ride back to Reygern for assistance?” said I, in a low voice, to the surgeon.
“I thank you, sir,” said the wounded man, in a low, calm tone,—for with the quick ear of suffering he had overheard my question,—“I thank you, but my orderly has already been sent thither. If you could relieve my young friend here from his fatiguing duty for a little, you would render us both a service. I am truly grieved to see him so much exhausted.”
“No, no, sir!” stammered the youth, as the tears ran fast down his cheeks; “this is my place. I will not leave it.”
“Kind fellow!” muttered the general, as he pressed his hand gently on the young man's arm; “I can bear this better than you can.”
“Ah, here he comes now,” said the sentinel; and the same moment a man dismounted from his horse, and came forward towards us.
It was Louis, the surgeon of the Emperor himself, despatched by Napoleon the moment he heard of the event. At any other moment, perhaps, the abrupt demeanor of this celebrated surgeon would have savored little of delicacy or feeling; nor even then could I forgive the sudden announcement in which he conveyed to the sufferer that immediate amputation must be performed.
“No chance left but this, Louis?” said the general.
“None, sir,” replied the doctor, while he unlocked an instrument case, and busied himself in preparation for the operation.
“Can you defer it a little; an hour or two, I mean?”