Part 30 (2/2)
”Thank Heaven!” said the general, as he sank back upon his pillow.
”How are you, sir?”
”Very weak. My fighting days are done.”
”You must not say that, sir; the doctors will soon pull you round.
Won't you?” said McKay, looking round at the nearest surgeon's face.
”Of course. I have no fear, provided only the general will keep quiet, and--”
”That means that I should go,” said the aide-de-camp. ”I shall be close at hand, sir, for I mean to be chief nurse,” and he left the tent.
Outside the surgeon ended the sentence he had left incomplete.
”The general,” he said, ”will be in no immediate danger if we could count upon his having proper care. With that, I think we could promise to save his life.”
”He shall have the most devoted attention from me,” began McKay.
”We know that. But he wants more: the very best hospital treatment, with all its comforts and appliances; and how can we possibly secure these here on this bleak plateau?”
Just then one of the general's orderlies came in sight and approached McKay.
”A letter, sir, for the general, marked 'Immediate.'”
”The general can attend to no correspondence. You know he has been desperately wounded.”
”Yes, sir, but the messenger would not take that for an answer.”
”Who is he?”
”A seaman from Balaclava, belonging to some yacht that has just arrived.”
”Lord Lydstone's perhaps. That would indeed be fortunate,” went on McKay, turning to the doctor. ”It is the general's cousin, you know; and on board the yacht--if we could get him there?”
”That is not impossible, I think. In fact, it would have to be done.”
”Well, on board the yacht he would get the careful nursing you speak of. Is he well enough, do you think, to read this letter?”
”Under the circ.u.mstances, yes. Give it me, and I will take it in to the general.”
A few minutes later McKay was again called in to the marquee.
”Oh, McKay, I wish you would be so good--” began the wounded man.
”This letter, I mean, is from Mrs. Wilders; she has just arrived.”
”Here, in the Crimea, sir?”
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