“Of course not. Bayoneting and bludgeoning with rifle-butts?”
Dickenson nodded.
“And all on the top of the excitement of the march and the long waiting to begin?”
“Just so, sir,” said Dickenson.
“Enough to over-excite a young fellow’s brain?”
“Well—yes, sir; it’s not at all cheerful work. But, really, I don’t see what you mean.”
“Just this, my dear boy, and, as I said, between ourselves. You don’t think, do you, that just in the midst of the fight poor Lennox was seized with what you vulgar young fellows call a fit of blue funk, do you?”
“No, sir, I do not,” said Dickenson stiffly. “Certainly not.”
“Lost his nerve?”
“No, sir.”