“Now go, Dick,” said the Colonel. “I have just such a little fellow at home in England, and I want to see him again.”
“Have you?” cried Dick eagerly: “then I will find our men so that you shall.”
“Hah,” sighed the Colonel as Dick started off, and he watched the boy till he disappeared. Then he sighed again, drew the blanket more over him and closed his eyes, and as the sun went down and the darkness fell he sank into a deep sleep.
It was just beginning to get dusk the next evening and the sentries about the little hill where the 200th lay had been doubled. For the French regiments not many hundred yards away had crept in closer, and were so placed that the English were surrounded, and their case was very desperate, for though they had plenty of water their provender was getting low, and the scouts sent out had reported to the Major that it looked as if an attack was going to be made.
So the wounded had been placed together behind a rough wall built of pieces of rock, and the men stationed, all hungry and desperate, ready to meet the enemy when they came and drive them back.
“And oh, dear! It’s weary work,” said Mrs Corporal, who had had nothing to cook for the men, but made up for it by acting as nurse and helping the wounded.
She was kneeling down by Corporal Beane when she spoke, and had been trying to comfort him, for he had done nothing but growl because the doctor said he must not think of getting up, and as she talked to him she said suddenly: “Oh, if I could only know what has become of my boy.”
She stopped short, for at that moment a shot was fired, and Corporal Beane sat up and reached for his musket.
“Here they come,” he cried. “I don’t care what the doctor says—I won’t lie here. Give me my cartridge-box, old woman: I’m going to fight.”