Bob, however, did not escape altogether unhurt. He had been rather severely wounded, and afterwards had to spend a considerable time in hospital. As his wound did not prevent him from moving about, he soon became a valuable assistant to the surgeons and nurses in the hospital.
“Ah!” said he one night, when smoothing the pillow and attending to the wants of a severely wounded soldier, “this comes more natural to me. It suits me better than fighting.”
“I wish you were one of the regular nurses, Corporal,” said one of the surgeons heartily; “you do everything so thoroughly, and with such a will.”
But Bob was not allowed to remain long at his peaceful work. Being a healthy and temperate man he soon recovered, and ere long found himself in the trenches before Sebastopol.
It was winter. One bleak, raw morning, just before daybreak, Bob plodded down with his party through slush and mud to take his turn of fighting before the great fortress. It was bitterly cold and dark. Some of the men were grumbling terribly.
“Ah, then, won’t you shut your ’tatie traps?” said a big Irishman, who had won the Victoria Cross the week before for conspicuous gallantry.
“We engaged for this sort o’ work, lads, when we ’listed,” remarked Bob, “an’ are paid for it; so let’s stick to our bargain wi’ the Queen, an’ do our duty well.”
“Troth, that’s well said,” remarked the Irishman. “‘What’s worth doin’ at all is worth doin’ well,’ as my ould grandmother used to say when she whacked me.”
There was a faint laugh at this, and the grumbling ceased.
“Come, Corporal Free,” said Bob, “as we’ve got to sit here till morning you’d better tell us one of your far-famed stories to make the time pass pleasantly—at least as pleasantly as circumstances will allow.”