“You went after a gun, did you?” inquired Frank, in a tone of voice which showed that he did not believe the steward’s story.

“Yes; and I would have given them fits, for I am a dead shot.”

“Where did you put your gun when you found that you had to retreat?”

“I put it back in the rack again.”

This was a likely story; for a person as badly frightened as was the steward would not have stopped to put the gun back in its place; and, in his heart, Frank despised the man who could be guilty of such a falsehood.

As they were about to go out on deck, the steward drew back, exclaiming: 

“I don’t hardly believe it is safe to go out there just yet.  Let us wait a few moments.”

“I shan’t wait an instant,” said Frank.  “Simpson has been neglected too long already.  You can come down and attend to him, or not, just as you please.”  So saying, he opened the cabin door, and walking rapidly out, descended the stairs that led to the main deck.

The steward dreaded to follow; but he knew that, if he did not attend the wounded sailor, he would be reported to the captain, who, although a kind-hearted man, was a strict disciplinarian, and one who always took particular pains to see that his crew was well provided for.  He dared not hesitate long; so, drawing in a long breath, he ran swiftly out on deck, and disappeared down the stairs like a shot.

Frank found Simpson sitting upon the mattress where he had been lain, with his elbows on his knees, and his head supported by his hands.  As Frank came up, he said, in a weak voice: 

“I came very near losing the number of my mess, didn’t I?  The rascals shot pretty close to me;” and he showed Frank an ugly-looking wound in the back of his head, from which the blood was flowing profusely.

By this time the steward arrived.  After examining the wound, he pronounced it very severe, and one that would require constant attention.

Simpson was speedily conveyed to the sick bay, and every thing possible done to make him comfortable.  Although the Milwaukee was completely riddled by the bullets of the guerrillas, he was the only one hurt.  Frank was excused from all duty, that he might act as Simpson’s nurse; and he scarcely left him for a moment during the two weeks of fever and delirium that followed.  By the time they reached Cairo, however, he was pronounced out of danger.

Frank wanted very much to see his cousin; but the Milwaukee was anchored out in the river, and no one was allowed to go ashore.  One afternoon, as he sat by his friend’s hammock, reading aloud a letter from Harry Butler, in which he gave a vivid description of a late battle in which his regiment had participated, the orderly entered and informed him that the captain wished to see him.  He followed the orderly, and, as he entered the cabin, the captain said: 

“Please help yourself to a chair, Mr. Nelson; I shall be at liberty in a moment.  I should like to finish this letter before the mail-steamer sails.  You will excuse me, will you not?”