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The doctor shrugged his shoulders. "But what's wrong with you?" he said, turning to the bombardier. "My leg's rather queer, sir. Old Turk fell on it, and it's sprained, I suppose. But I expect you can soon put it right, sir." Rademacher removed the driver's riding-trousers with the aid of the hospital-orderly. His examination was soon over. "You have a double fracture of the thigh," he said.
In my day, too, there was some sort of a Humouralist school, Hoffmann, and Brown too with his vitalism they seemed very ridiculous to us, but, of course, they too had been great men at one time or other. Some one new has taken the place of Rademacher with you; you bow down to him, but in another twenty years it will be his turn to be laughed at.
When Vogt and the stretcher-bearers had climbed to the top of the hill and saw the building to which the doctor had directed them, they stopped short. Dr. Rademacher had spoken of a manor-house or farm; but what they saw before them looked more like a castle. However, as there was not another roof to be seen near or far, they could not be making any mistake.
Rademacher bent down over Klitzing. When he saw the blood-stained froth on the lips his face involuntarily put on a grave expression. He laid his ear to the chest and listened for a long time. "What happened to the man?" he inquired. Vogt pointed to Eidechse, who was gazing across at them with dull eyes, and answered: "She kicked him in the chest." "Badly?" "Yes, sir.
'Why do people still believe in Rademacher in this province? asked Bazarov. Vassily Ivanovitch cleared his throat. 'In this province.... Of course, gentlemen, you know best; how could we keep pace with you? You are here to take our places.
Rademacher looked hesitatingly down at the mortally wounded man, and answered evasively: "Well we must wait and see." Once more he listened to the breathing, then stood up. According to his diagnosis the injured man had but a few hours to live, at the most perhaps even only minutes. "Has he recovered consciousness at all?" he asked. "Yes, sir; but only for a very short time."
The stretcher-bearers set out, Vogt joining them. The doctor had nodded assent to his beseeching glance. Sickel was just going to be carried away when two veterinary surgeons arrived to look after the injured horses. "Beg pardon, sir," said the driver, "but I should like so much to know what's wrong with my beast." Rademacher told the stretcher-bearers to wait.
But Klitzing's eyelids remained closed, and there was no movement of the body, only the rapid, stertorous breathing. The shrill sound of the bell broke the silence for the third time, and immediately after the senior staff-surgeon, Andreae, entered the room, followed by Dr. Rademacher and a hospital orderly.
We had to dig his grave with our hands and with our bayonets, and to eliminate every trace above it, in order to protect the body. Rademacher had been buried immediately after the skirmish with all honors. "The wounded had a hard time of it. We had lost our medicine chest in the wreck; we had only little packages of bandages for skirmishes; but no probing instrument, no scissors, were at hand.
Four stretcher-bearers came down the hill at last, carrying two stretchers. Klitzing was first placed on one of them. "Where is he to go?" asked the foremost stretcher-bearer. Rademacher considered a moment, and then answered: "Up yonder, right on the brow of the hill, there's a farm, manor-house, or something of the sort. Take him there. On my responsibility."
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