16 Return to Camp

CHAPTER 16 Return to Camp Henry went slowly toward the fire, thinking fearfully of the welcome his friends would give him. He was sure they would make fun of him. He thought about going off into the darkness to hide, but he was too tired and sore. He could see men sleeping on the ground near the fire. Suddenly a tall, dark figure approached him with a rifle. "Halt! Halt!" the figure commanded. Henry was confused for a moment, and then he thought he recognized the voice.

"Why, hello," he said. "Wilson, is—is that you?" The rifle lowered and Wilson slowly came forward and looked into Henry's face. "That you, Henry?" Wilson asked. "Well, old boy, I'm glad to see you. I gave you up for sure." Henry could barely stand, and he tried to tell his story quickly. "Yes, yes, I've had an awful time," he said. "I've been all over. I was separated from the troop, and then I got shot right here in the head—it grazed me. I've never seen such fighting. It was awful. I don't know how I got separated from the troop." "What, shot?" Wilson stepped forward quickly. "Why didn't you say so right away? Poor old boy." Then a corporal approached out of the darkness. "Henry, you're here?" the corporal said.

"Why, I thought you were gone four hours ago. My goodness, they keep turning up every few minutes. We thought we had lost forty-two men, but they keep coming back. We'll have the whole company back by morning, at this rate. Where were you?" "I got separated—" Henry started to say. Then Wilson interrupted, "Yes, and he's been shot in the head. We have to look after him right away." Wilson and the corporal took Henry to a blanket near the fire. The other soldiers began to help when they saw him, too. The corporal wrapped the wound on Henry's head. As he rested, Henry looked at the other soldiers around the fire. Some were sleeping while still holding their guns and swords. All were covered with mud and dirt, and their clothes were torn. Everyone looked dead tired.

Henry sat in a sad little heap until Wilson came back swinging two canteens. "Well, now, Henry old boy," he said. "We'll have you fixed up in a minute." He fussed around the fire and stirred the sticks. Then he made Henry drink from the canteen that contained cold coffee. Henry drank long, and it soothed his throat. Having finished, he sighed with comfortable delight. Then Wilson wrapped Henry's head in a large handkerchief. There," he said, looking at his work. "You look like the devil, but I bet you feel better. You're strong, Henry. You didn't yell or anything while we cleaned you up, and a shot in the head is serious. Now you lay down and get some rest." Henry got down carefully, stretching out with a murmur of relief and comfort. The ground felt like a soft couch. But suddenly he sat up and said, "Hold on a

minute. Where are you going to sleep?" His friend waved away his question. "Right down there by you," he said. "What are you going to sleep in? I've got your blanket." "Be quiet and go on to sleep," Wilson snarled. "Don't make a fool of yourself." At that, Henry was silent. A sense of sleepiness had spread through his whole body. Under the warm comfort of the blanket, his head fell forward onto his arm and his eyelids quickly closed. Hearing some gunfire in the distance, Henry wondered if those men ever slept. He gave a long sigh, snuggled down into his blanket, and in a moment was just like his friends.