“Much hurt, old chap?” cried Dickenson, who was the first to reach his friend, and he supplemented his question by eagerly feeling Lennox all over.
“No! No: I think not,” said Lennox, “except my head, and that feels hot and scorched. Can you see anything wrong?”
“Not yet; it’s so dark. Here, let’s take you to the doctor.”
“No, no!” cried Lennox. “Not so bad as that. But tell me—what about the officers sleeping in those huts?”
“All right, I believe; but the backs of the houses are blown in, and the fellows at home were blown right out of their beds.”
“No one hurt?”
“Oh yes; some of them are a bit hurt, but only bruised. But you? Oh, hang it all! somebody bring a light. Hi, there, a lantern!”
“No, no!” roared the colonel out of the darkness. “Are you mad? Who’s that asking for a light?”
“Mr Dickenson, sir.”
“Bah! Keep every light away. There may be another explosion.”