I have no way of knowing how long I rested there motionless although awake, my eyes closed to keep out the painful glare, my sad thoughts busied with memory of those men whom I had seen reel and fall upon that stricken field we had battled so vainly to save. Once I wondered, with sudden start of fear, if I had lost a limb, if I was to be crippled for life, the one thing I dreaded above all else. Feeling feebly beneath my bed-clothing I tested, as best I could, each limb. All were apparently intact, although my left arm seemed useless and devoid of feeling, broken no doubt, and I heaved a sigh of genuine relief. Then I became partially aroused to my surroundings by a voice speaking from the cot next mine.
“You lazy Irish marine!” it cried petulantly, “that beef stew was to have been given me an hour ago.”
“Sure, sor,” was the soothing reply, “it wasn't to be given yer honor till two o'clock.”
“Well, it's all of three now.”
“Wan-thirty, on me sowl, sor.”
That first voice sounded oddly familiar, and I turned my face that way, but was unable to perceive the speaker.
“Is that Lieutenant Caton?” I asked doubtfully.
“Most assuredly it is,” quickly. “And who are you?”
“Captain Wayne, of the Confederate Army.”
“Oh, Wayne? Glad you spoke, but extremely sorry to have you here. Badly hurt?”