"
"Who are you?" demanded the soldier.
"Dr. Waterton," answered Mr. Pennant, giving the first name that came
into his head, for the medical title was the essential thing.
"All right, doctor; I have been directed to admit you. Pass in, sir."
Job was familiar with the interior of the fort, and he led the way; but
before they had crossed the parade, the soldier who had gone for the
doctor came to them, and conducted them to a casemate, where the sick
soldier was still suffering terrible pains.
"Lieutenant Fourchon, this is the doctor; but I do not know his name,"
said the soldier.
"Dr. Waterton," added Mr. Pennant.
"I am glad to see you, Dr. Waterton, for I have exhausted all my
remedies," said Lieutenant Fourchon. "I was not born to be a doctor.
The patient seems to be no better."
"It does not look like a very bad case," added the doctor, finding it
necessary to say something, as he felt the pulse of the sufferer.
Though the lieutenant of the Bronx was not a physician, he was not
altogether a pretender, for in the capacity of mate and temporary
commander, he had done duty in the healing art in the absence of a more
skilful person.
"A glass of water and a teaspoon," said he to the soldier-nurse; and
they were promptly brought to him.
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