"Very well—too well, indeed," the sergeant replied; "but it is not the Russian who desires to see you, it is the captain." Calling to a hospital attendant passing at the time he inquired if the man were going to the officers' hospital. He was not going there, but would pass it on his way to his own destination.
"Go with him," said the sergeant to me; "he will show you the place. Ask for our captain."
I went away with the hospital orderly, and was shown the officers' hospital quarters by him. On giving name, company, and battalion—they saw my rank upon my sleeve—I was told to wait until the surgeon-in-charge could be told that I wished to see a patient. Very soon the surgeon came. He asked me quite abruptly whom I desired to see. I told him with military directness, but respectfully, and he said that I might be brought to where the captain lay. I went there with an orderly. The captain had a wound on the right arm not of much account; it certainly did not keep him in hospital, but, as he had been knocked down and stunned by a blow of a musket-butt on the left temple, the surgeons would, and did, detain him for awhile. Several times while I was with him he put his hands to his head and swore a little. But, of course, that was none of my business. He asked me about the banner I had taken—"not, you must remember," said he, "that that was very useful or very creditable."
I told the story, and especially laid stress on the facts that poor Nicholas had warned me of the first attack and that he was now dying in the simple soldiers' hospital.
"You are sorry?" he queried.
"Very; he was my good comrade."
"Had he much money?"
"He gave me all." And I showed the little bag.
"How much?"
I counted, and replied: