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Updated: June 9, 2025
That's some he-sized order, ain't it?" McCrea shrugs his shoulder. "As I mentioned, I think," says he, "it was Major Wellby who suggested your assistance; and as the major happens to enjoy the confidence of well, someone who is a person of considerable importance in Washington " "Uh-huh!" says I. "It's a case of my bein' wished on you and you standin' by with the laugh when I fall down.
"Aye, aye, sir!" reported the man with the Red Cross on his sleeve, reappearing before the door. "Have the stretcher brought here at once!" "Aye, aye, sir!" Still holding the clinical thermometer in one hand, Doctor McCrea stood keenly regarding the prisoner. "What on earth is the matter with me?" demanded Truax, speaking somewhat nervously.
Why had not some one suggested it would be wise to search, individually, each brave before conducting him to the line? "There's going to be trouble, Con!" cried Graham, suddenly dropping his field-glass. "Look! There goes McCrea!"
Lieutenant McCrea seemed to be in the depths of mortification, and his face was very red. "There is but one thing to be done, now, Mr. Farnum," declared Captain Bigelow, severely. "We shall have to appear before Admiral Bentley, on his flagship, as soon as he will receive us. You must repeat your explanation to him." This Mr. Farnum was quite willing to do.
It was nine o'clock when Geordie's quick, soldierly step was heard on the walk without. He came bounding up and in, alert, virile, and vigorous. "You saw Mr. McCrea, Geordie?" "Yes, mother. He's going to Newburg to catch the Pacific express on the Central, and, mother I'm going with him."
You can't make a man good that way, any more'n you can a dog by beatin' him," chimed in his old mother. "I guess you'll go along with him, even to-morrow, if so be he wishes it." "S'pose I will, Mother, but " "Course you would," said his father proudly. "They've never known a McCrea yet on this coast that would let even a dog starve.
When we were little, and geography and history were but printed words on white paper, not places and events, Jane McCrea was to us no suffering woman, but a picture of a low-necked, long-skirted, scanty dress, long hair grasped by a naked Indian, and two unnatural-looking hands raised in entreaty. It was interesting as a picture, but it excited no pity, no horror, because it was only a picture.
"Oh, you'll be all right soon," replied Doctor McCrea, in what was too plainly a voice of false hope. The stretcher was brought. "Get on to this, Truax. Don't think of attempting to walk," ordered the surgeon. "Sentry, I am taking your prisoner to the sick bay. I'll make proper report of my action to the lieutenant commander." The "sick bay" is the hospital part of a warship.
We can't go any lower, for the water tanks are as full as they'll hold, and there's still the buoyancy caused by all the air the interior of the boat. So we're as far below the surface as we can go." "Bully for you, Benson!" cried Lieutenant McCrea, slapping the young skipper on the back. "You understand what you're doing, and no one could do it with more coolness.
"Oh, you'll be all right," replied the doctor, evasively. "When?" "Oh, in a few days, anyway." "What have I got? A fever?" "Now, don't ask questions, my man. Just lie quietly, and let us get you on your feet as soon as possible." Just then the hospital man returned with a glass of something for which Doctor McCrea had sent him. "Drink this," ordered the surgeon. Truax obeyed.
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