He shook his head. “That is my friend’s work,” he explained. “He told me of this, and I will not steal his honor. In due time he will give it to the world.”[A]
In a month the last case of the disease had disappeared, and our room had been thoroughly cleansed and fumigated.
“It’s time for me to go,” our good friend now announced, “and I wish I could take you all with me.” Then lowering his voice he added:
“I go to your country to be a surgeon in your army. I’ll tell them of you, and have them arrange an exchange.”
About the first of June I thought he had accomplished his desire, for a British officer came to our room, and looking us all over, asked our names, and the station in which we had served. Then he said:
“Arthur Dunn, William Goss, and Richard Webber are to come with me.”
“Are you sure that is all who are to go?” I questioned, reluctant to leave a single man behind.
“It is all who are to go now,” he replied curtly. “The others may be sent for later.”
Thus reassured we, the fortunate three as we thought, bade our comrades good-bye, and with exultant hearts followed the officer from the room. Once in the street, he led us down to the wharf where a yawl was in waiting.
“Get in,” he commanded, and, still thinking that we were to be taken to some vessel where our exchange was to be effected, we obeyed with alacrity.