But Dr. Sitgreaves, Sergeant
Hollister, and Betty Flanagan were congregated at a short distance by
themselves, having spread a few blankets upon the dry surface of a rock.
Lawton threw his huge frame by the side of the surgeon, and folding his
cloak about him, leaned his head upon one hand, and appeared deeply
engaged in contemplating the moon as it waded through the heavens. The
sergeant was sitting upright, in respectful deference to the surgeon,
and the washerwoman was now raising her head, in order to vindicate some
of her favorite maxims, and now composing it to sleep.
"So, sergeant," continued Sitgreaves, following up a previous position,
"if you cut upwards, the blow, by losing the additional momentum of your
weight, will be less destructive, and at the same time effect the true
purpose of war, that of disabling your enemy."
"Pooh! pooh! sergeant dear," said the washerwoman, raising her head from
the blanket, "where's the harm of taking a life, jist in the way of
battle? Is it the rig'lars who'll show favor, and they fighting? Ask
Captain Jack there, if the country could get free, and the boys no
strike their might. I wouldn't have them disparage the whisky so much."
"It is not to be expected that an ignorant female like yourself, Mrs.
Flanagan," returned the surgeon, with a calmness that only rendered his
contempt more stinging to Betty, "can comprehend the distinctions of
surgical science; neither are you accomplished in the sword exercise; so
that dissertations upon the judicious use of that weapon could avail you
nothing either in theory or in practice.
Pages:
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605