“Will you go, Big?” I said.
“No, I couldn’t walk,” he replied. “I can hardly get down here.”
“I’ll look after him,” said my father. “Go on, but take care not to be caught.”
“We’ll mind that, captain,” was the reply; and we descended as rapidly as pain would let us, reached the stream, crossed the path the Frenchmen had taken, and went on diagonally up the slope, getting higher above the enemy at every step, and talking together in a low tone about the fight, and how the poor fellows were whom we had missed.
“I hope and pray,” said our foreman, “as no one ar’n’t killed; and, my lor’, how my arm do hurt!”
“So do I. Poor fellows!” I said, “how well they all fought!”
“Ay, they did. But the captain, Master Sep, he was like a lion all the time. Why, lad, what’s the matter?”
“I—I don’t want to make too much fuss,” I panted; “but I’m broken somewhere, and it hurts horribly.”
“Sit you down, lad, and wait till we come back,” said the foreman kindly.
“No,” I said, grinding my teeth, “I won’t give up;” and I trudged on, knowing as well as could be that one or two of my ribs were broken when I was crushed against the wall, just before it gave way.