“Hold your tongue!” shouted George, in a tone that Billy had never heard from him before; and then, in the next minute, he said, confusedly, “I did not mean to speak so, but my head is in a whirl; I think I must be ill.”
And as he spoke he reeled in his saddle, and would have fallen had not Billy run forward and caught him. He staggered into the house where he had lodgings, and got into his bed, and by midnight he was raving with fever.
Billy had sense enough to go for Dr. Craik, George’s old acquaintance, who had volunteered as surgeon to General Braddock’s staff. He was a bright-eyed, determined-looking man, still young, but skilled in his profession. By morning the fever was reduced, and Dr. Craik was giving orders about the treatment as he sat by George’s bedside, for the army was to resume its march that day.
“Your attack is sharp,” said the doctor, “but you have an iron constitution, and with ordinary care you will soon be well.”
George, pale and haggard, but without fever, listened to the doctor’s directions with a half-smile. The troops were already on the move; outside could be heard the steady tramp of feet, the thunder of horses’ hoofs, the roll of artillery-wagons, and the commotion of an army on the move. In a few moments the doctor left him, saying:
“I think you will shortly be able to rejoin the army, Colonel Washington.”
“I think so, too,” answered George.
As soon as the doctor was out of the room George turned to Billy and said:
“Help me on with my clothes, and as soon as the troops are well out of the town fetch the horses.”
When the soldiers halted at noon, General Braddock, sitting under a tree by the road-side, was asking Dr. Craik’s opinion of the time that Colonel Washington could rejoin, when around the corner of a huge bowlder rode George with Billy behind him. He was very pale, but he could sit his horse. He could not but laugh at the doctor’s angry face, but said deprecatingly to him: