A tall, blond-bearded major walked up to a doctor near me, saying, “When you’ve a little leisure, just take a look at my side.”
“Do it now,” said the doctor.
The officer exposed his wound. “Ball went in here, and out there.”
The doctor looked up at him—half pity, half amazement. “If you’ve got any message, you’d best send it by me.”
“Why, you don’t say it’s serious?” was the reply.
“Serious! Why, you’re shot through the stomach. You won’t live over the day.”
Then the man did what struck me as a very odd thing. He said, “Anybody got a pipe?” Some one gave him a pipe. He filled it deliberately, struck a light with a flint, and sat down against a tree near to me. Presently the doctor came to him again, and asked him what he could do for him.
“Send me a drink of Bourbon.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”