“Surgeons command here, sir,” said the doctor sternly, “not captains.” But he put aside his instrument saying thoughtfully, “Perhaps it will be better not to. I don’t see how he can be saved, anyway, from anything but pain.”
“That he is in pain,” I said, “shows that he is alive. And as long as there’s life, there’s hope.”
The surgeon shook his head.
It was not long until Rose and Doctor Rich had come. The doctor examined Jonathan’s eyes and listened to his heart beats, inquired what had been done, and then said, “It is fortunate that no opiates have been given him, for it would have lessened his chances.”
The battle alarm proved to be false. So I asked and was granted a leave of absence to convey Jot to the hospital. He was still conscious, and asked for General Burbank—whom I found there on my arrival.
When the general had come, at Jot’s request, the room was cleared, and the door closed while he delivered a message to the general.
“He would have it so,” said Doctor Rich, “though he fully understood that the exertion of speech might, and probably would, be fatal. He insisted, for he said, ‘My country’s cause demands it and what is my life when weighed with that?’”
So Jot had given his message, and then relapsed into unconsciousness.
“But still,” said the doctor, “there is yet a chance,—a mere chance,—for the interview seemed to have done him as much good as harm.”
I understood. It had eased his mind to deliver that message.