THE IMMORTAL SIX HUNDRED
calls of nature. Poor, dear old Peake! He suffered, all the night through, the most intense pain. At roll call I told the negro sergeant that Lieutenant Peake was ill and needed the attention of the doctor at once; but the doctor never came in until 9 o'clock, the regular hour for sick call of the prison pen. When he did come in, Lieutenant Hudgins, C. S. N., and Lieutenant Hugh Dunlap, my other tent mates, requested me to see the doctor and ask him to come at once to see Lieutenant Peake. I went to the hospital tent, as it was called, approaching the doctor in the most polite manner and with the most polite language I could command, related to him Lieutenant Peake's condition, urging him to go over to see Peake, who, I thought, was in a dying condition, and would die unless he had immediate medical attention. Before this red-headed dispenser of pills replied to my urgent appeal for help, he looked me over from head to foot, then said, "Can't the man come to my tent." "Why of course not,
112
