“Yes, sir,” said the wounded sergeant faintly, as we went to his side, and he smiled up at me. “I heard you blacking my character behind my back. Never mind about the past. What about Sergeant Craig?”
“Well, what about him, sir? He’s going to get better.”
“Afraid not, doctor. I heard the captain say that we march directly. I couldn’t even ride if I had a horse. Hadn’t you better put me out of my misery at once?”
“If you talk nonsense like that to me, sir,” cried the doctor, “I’ll give you the nastiest dose you ever had in your life.”
“But I can’t walk.”
“Of course not; but there are plenty of good men and true to carry you, so hold your tongue, and get better as fast as you can.”
“But—”
“Silence, sir! or I’ll put a bandage on your mouth, as well as on your arm.”
Poor Craig smiled at me, and closed his eyes.
Half an hour after our men were found all refreshed and rested, and looking ready to do any deed of valour, or follow their leader to the death. The order was given, and in the lightest of light marching-order, save that there was the litter to carry, on which poor Craig had been laid, when one of the sentries still on guard, but with orders to fall in on the rear when we marched, reported the approach of a party of the people of the city.