Under the Ensign of the Rising Sun: A Story of the Russo-Japanese WarCollingwood, Harry
General
Under the Ensign of the Rising Sun: A Story of the Russo-Japanese War
Collingwood, Harry
Russo-Japanese War, 1904-1905 -- Juvenile fiction
She coloured still more, and after regarding me steadfastly for a
moment, answered:
"My contemptible and insignificant name, illustrious Captain, is
Peach-blossom."
"Peach-blossom!" I repeated. "And a very appropriate name, too, by
Jove! See here, Peach-blossom. The Chief Surgeon seems to have
forgotten that I said I was thirsty. Do you think you could find me
something to drink? Two or three tumblers of cold water, now, eh? I
have an idea that they would taste particularly good."
"I will speak to the Chief, noble Captain, and if he consents I will
honourably let you have it," she replied.
The Chief evidently consented, and a few minutes later I was quenching
my thirst with the most delicious draught I had ever tasted. It was
only pure, cold water, but as I slowly imbibed it I told myself that at
last I really understood the full meaning of the term, "nectar."
Well, there is no need for me to dwell at length upon my sojourn in the
hospital. I was given to understand that I was making a splendid
recovery, yet although I was brought back to the Elliot Islands and
admitted to the hospital on the morning of 20th June, it was not until
nearly three weeks had passed that I was permitted to receive visitors,
the first of whom was that fine fellow Ito, to whom I owed my life.
I shall not readily forget the little chap's delight when, upon entering
the ward, he discovered me sitting up in bed, reading, propped up by
cushions and a bed-rest. He sprang forward, his eyes fairly snapping
with pleasure and excitement, and seizing my welcoming hand, shook it
with such energy that good little Peach-Blossom felt constrained to
spring hastily to her feet and rescue me from his too strenuous
demonstrations of joy. At her vigorous remonstrances, however, he
dropped my hand as though it had burnt him and, sinking into a chair by
my bedside, proceeded to apologise with almost abject contrition, and
would not be comforted until I had assured him, not quite truthfully, I
am afraid, that he had not hurt me. Then, in answer to my questions, he
proceeded to tell me what he knew of the matter.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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