“What’s your name?” I asked.
“Hume. Ensign William Hume,” he replied.
“You’re too young to die, Hume,” I said, “and I promise not to leave you until you are in safety.”
“I’ll do the same for you,” he said, “if ever I find you lying on a hillside with a bullet hole through both your thighs.”
I sat down on the grass beside him, and gave him something strong out of a little flask that I carried in an inside pocket. He drank it with eagerness and gratitude and grew cheerful.
I thought a few moments, and my idea came to me, as good ideas sometimes do. As he could neither walk nor shout, it behooved me to do both for him. Telling him my plan, of which he approved most heartily, as he ought to have done, I lifted him in my arms and walked toward the British camp. He was a heavy load and my breath grew hard.
We were almost within reach of the firelight, and yet we were not noticed by any of the British, who, I suppose, were absorbed in their preparations. We came to a newly cut tree, intended probably for use in the British fortifications. I put Ensign Hume upon this tree with his back supported against an upthrust bough.
“Now, don’t forget, when they come,” I said. “to tell them you managed to crawl to this tree and shout for help. That will prevent any pursuit of me.”
He promised, and shook hands with as strong a grip as he could, for he was yet weak. Then I stepped back a few paces behind him, and shouted: