CHAPTER XXXVI.—A STARTLING REVELATION FAR into the night John Horton lay in an unconscious condition, between life and death. The physician characterized the wound as an ugly one, and expressed great doubt as to the outcome. Agreeable to his advice, it was thought best not to move the patient for a few hours at least; and a comfortable cot was provided, on which he lay moaning, tossing, and mumbling incoherently. By his side sat the grim-visaged Captain Osborn, whose heart was tender with sympathy and solicitude. Occasionally the captain would exchange a few words with Hugh Stanton, in subdued tones, regarding the doctor’s orders and the ices that were to be kept constantly on the wound. The name “Ethel” escaped the patient’s lips amidst his moaning, and again the words “little Hugh.” It was after midnight when he seemed to arouse from the unconscious condition in which he had lain, and began moaning again and pulling at the bandages on his wound. It required no little effort on the part of his attendants to prevent him from tearing the bandages entirely away. Presently he started up as if awakening from a troubled sleep. He opened his eyes and for a few minutes looked vacantly at Captain Osborn. Then, in a quick, nervous tone, he asked, “Where is my canteen and sword?” “They are all right,” replied the captain, soothingly, “don’t think anything about them at present. What you need now is quiet and sleep.” “Where am I?” the wounded man next asked, and then, without waiting for a reply, he continued, “Did we whip them or did they whip us?” “There, there,” said the captain, gently, “you have a bad wound. Don’t disturb yourself by trying to think. Go to sleep now, and I will tell you all about the affair in the morning.” “Very kind of you, stranger, I am sure,” said Horton. “I have had all the sleep I care for. I must now join my regiment.” As he said this he tried to arise from the cot. Both Hugh and Captain Osborn had all they could do to prevent him from doing so. They persuaded him to believe that the physician had forbidden undue exertion. The wounded man lay back on his cot, exhausted from his effort, and looked at his attendants in half anger, while his eyes lighted up with the fire of a soldier. “My duty as a soldier,” he protested, “outranks the order of the hospital physician. As civilians, you, perhaps, cannot understand this, but it is imperative that I join my regiment, the Twenty-ninth, immediately.” Hugh started to speak, but the old captain motioned him to silence. “He is badly out of his head,” thought he, “and I must handle him by strategy.” Perhaps Captain Osborn remembered the gallant services of the Twenty-ninth Massachusetts regiment, of which he had been the colonel, and was pardonably proud of his achievements while defending the flag during the war. “The Twenty-ninth is all right, comrade,” observed the captain. “Officers and men behaved like heroes.”