Now
let me look at his arm.
"Ah!" he went on as he examined the wound, "he has had a narrow
escape here. The ball has cut a vein and missed the principal artery
by an eighth of an inch. If that had been cut he would have bled
to death in five minutes. Evidently the lad has luck on his side,
and I begin to think we may save him if we can only keep him quiet."
At the earnest request of the surgeons tents were brought up and a
hospital established on some rising ground near the field of battle
for the serious cases among the wounded, and when the army marched
away to join the Saxons at Leipzig a brigade was left encamped
around the hospital.
Here for three weeks Malcolm lay between life and death. The quantity
of blood he had lost was greatly in his favour, as it diminished
the risk of inflammation, while his vigorous constitution and the
life of fatigue and activity which he had led greatly strengthened
his power. By a miracle the bullet in its passage had passed
through without injuring any of the vital parts; and though his
convalescence was slow it was steady, and even at the end of the
first week the surgeons were able to pronounce a confident opinion
that he would get over it.
But it was not until the end of the month that he was allowed to
move from his recumbent position. A week later and he was able to
sit up. On the following day, to his surprise, the Count of Mansfeld
strode into his tent.
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