We carried Ould Michael to his cabin and laid him on his bed. He was suffering dreadfully from some inward wound, but he uttered not a word of complaint. After he had lain still for some time he looked at McFarquhar.
"What is it, lad?" asked McFarquhar.
"The flag," whispered poor Ould Michael.
"The flag? Do you want the flag?"
He shook his head slowly, still looking beseechingly at his friend. All at once it came to me.
"You want the flag hauled up, Michael?" I said.
He smiled and eagerly looked towards me.
"I'll run it up at once," I said.
He moved his hand. I came to him and bending over him caught the words "God save——"