“I’m coming to it directly, sir,” said the man querulously. “Well, sir, seeing as I felt that, as I was sentry over the hospital, I was in charge of a wounded man as well, I just rested my rifle against the wall, picked up one of the sacks, and doubled it in four. Then, just as innocent as a babby, I kneels down, lifts up his leg softly, bending over him like, and was just shoving the bit of a cushion-like thing under his knee, when it seemed as if one of the big stones up there had fallen flat on the back of my head, and I heard some one say, ‘Take that, you ugly Sassenach beast! and see how you like lying in hospital.’ Then it was all black, sir, till I opened my eyes and saw you holding that stuff to my lips.”
“Yes, my man,” said the doctor; “now don’t talk any more, but lie still.”
“Tell me about that crack on the head again, sir, please. It wasn’t one of the stones fell down, then?”
“No; the prisoner must have got hold of this piece somehow, then kept it ready by the side of his bed, and struck you down.”
“And a nasty, dirty, cowardly blow, too,” said the poor fellow feebly. “Beg pardon, sir; you’ll pull me round as quickly as you can—won’t you?”
“Of course,” said the doctor, smiling.
“Thank ye, sir. I want to have an interview with that gentleman again.”
“I suppose so,” said Denham; “and so do about four hundred of the corps. He’d have been stood up with his back to one of the walls and shot by this time, but the brute has got away.”
“We shall run against him again, though, sir,” said the wounded man confidently, “and we shan’t mistake him for any one else.—Beg pardon, though, sir; you’re quite sure my skull isn’t broken?”
“Quite,” said the doctor. “Now be quiet.”