“You’ll do now, my boy,” said he; “get another good sleep to-night, and to-morrow morning you will have nothing to do but to get well.”
“Where am I hit?” said I.
“You had a ball in your shoulder and another in your hip, but they are both extracted; the one in the hip cut through a large vein, and the haemorrhage was so great before you could be brought here, that at one time I thought you were gone. Your life hung upon a thread for hours; but we may thank God that all is right now. You have no fever, and your pulse is getting strong again.”
“How’s the captain, sir?”
“As bad as bad can be just now; but I have hopes of a change for the better.”
“And Captain W, sir?”
“Poor fellow! he is dead; and has so decidedly proved that his fever was not a sham, the soldiers are a little ashamed of themselves—and so they ought to be; but too often good feelings come too late. Now, Keene, you have talked quite enough for to-night; take your sedative mixture, and go to sleep again; to-morrow, I have no doubt, you will be able to ask as many questions as you like.”
“Only one more, sir:— is the adjutant dead?”
“I have not heard,” replied the surgeon; “but we shall know to-morrow: now go to sleep, and good-night.”
When the surgeon left the room, “Bob?” said I.