“That they are not, sir. You told me you felt a little numbness of the extremities.”
“Yes, sir. Arm and leg go dead.”
The Doctor nodded.
“That agonising pain in the back goes on too,” continued Bracy. “Sometimes it is unbearable.”
“Do you think the bullet is still there, sir?” ventured Drummond.
“You stick to your regimental manoeuvres, sir,” said the Doctor gruffly. “What do you know about such things?”
“Not much, sir; only one of our fellows was very bad that way before you came, and it was through the bullet remaining in the wound.”
The Doctor nodded slowly, and made an examination of his patient, promised to send him something to lull the pain, and then, after a few cheerful words, went away, sent a draught, and the sufferer dropped into a heavy sleep.
The days went on, with plenty of what Shakespeare called alarums and excursions in the neighbourhood of the great fort, the enemy being constantly making desultory attacks, but only to find Graves’s boys and Wrayford’s men, as they were laughingly called, always on the alert, so that the attacking party were beaten off with more or less loss, but only to come on again from some unexpected direction.
Bracy had plenty of visitors, and Mrs Gee told him that this was the cause of his want of progress; but the visitors dropped in all the same, and the patient made no advance towards convalescence. Now it would be the Colonel, who was kind and fatherly, and went away feeling uneasy at the peculiarity of his young officer’s symptoms, for Bracy was fretful and nervous in the extreme; now an arm would jerk, then a leg, and his manner was so strange that when the Colonel went away he sent for Dr Morton, who bustled in, to meet the Colonel’s eye searchingly.