“We have captured this boat, and five prisoners, one of them wounded, if not dead.”
“Bully for you,” replied the picket.
They were soon joined by a squad of men, and Fred Pemberton and the wounded rebel were conveyed to the hospital, while the four prisoners were conducted to a secure place. Hapgood and Tom then hastened to the parade, where the regiment was drawn up, and reported the events which had just transpired. It was unanimously voted by officers and privates that the picket guard had done “a big thing,” and they were warmly and generously commended for their skill and bravery.
Hapgood and Tom requested permission to go to the hospital and see their companion. They found that the surgeon had already dressed his wound.
“Will he die?” asked Tom, full of solicitude for his friend.
“Die! no; it’s a mere scratch. The ball ploughed into his cheek a little way,” replied the surgeon. “It isn’t a bad wound. He was more scared than hurt.”
“I am glad it is no worse,” said Captain Benson, who, with fatherly solicitude for his men, had come to the hospital as soon as the company was dismissed. “But what ails you, Tom? You look pale.”
“Nothing, captain.”
“Are you sure?”
“I don’t think I am badly hurt. I believe one of those pistol balls grazed my side; but I hardly felt it.”