Chapter Twenty.
All about it.
The men forgot their thirst in the excitement of the incident, and as soon as Lennox showed signs of recovering a little from the state of exhaustion in which he lay, every one volunteered to be his bearer. But before he had been carried far he made signs for the men to stop, and upon being set down he took Dickenson’s arm, and, leaning upon him heavily, marched slowly with the men for the rest of the way towards the colonel’s quarters.
They were met, though, before they were half-way, their slow approach being seen and taken for a sign that there was something wrong; and colonel, major, doctor, and the other officers hurried to meet them and hear briefly what had occurred.
“Why, Lennox, my lad,” cried the doctor after a short examination, “you ought to be dead. You must be a tough one. There, I’ll see what I can do for you.”
He took the young officer in his charge from that moment, and his first order was that his patient was to be left entirely alone, and, after partaking of a little refreshment, he was to rest and sleep for as many hours as he could.
“The poor fellow has had a terrible shock,” he said to the colonel.
“Of course; but one naturally would like to know how he managed to escape.”
“Very naturally, my dear sir; but his eyes tell me that if his brain is not allowed to recover its tone he’ll have a bad attack of fever. A man can’t go through such an experience as that without being terribly weakened. I want him to be led into thinking of everything else but his escape. I dare say after a few hours he will be wanting to talk excitedly about all he felt; but he mustn’t. Not a question must be asked.”