ispensary, where he had so
often gone for remedies for his ailments. He found what he wanted, and
then he felt reasonably certain that he should make a success of his
professional visit to the soldier. He took several small bottles of
medicines in addition to the particular one upon which he depended.

Job conducted him to the fort, which was over a mile distant. The
lieutenant was not dressed in his uniform with the shoulder straps,
though he had procured one from the store ship at the station; but he
had adjusted his garments to the needs of the occasion, so that, if
captured he could hardly be recognized as a Union officer. But he had
his navy revolvers in his hip pockets, though they were covered by the
skirts of the frock coat he wore, for he had borrowed this garment of
the surgeon.

At the principal entrance of the fort they were challenged by the
sentinel. Mr. Pennant was somewhat afraid his northern dialect would
betray him, for he was not a highly educated man, though he was
exceedingly well informed in all matters pertaining to the duties of
a shipmaster.

"Stand! Who comes there?" said the sentinel.

"Friends," replied the lieutenant.

"Advance, friends, and give the countersign!"

"We have no countersign to give."

"Who are you?" demanded the soldier.

"Dr. Waterton," answered Mr. Pennant, giving the first name that came
into his head, for the medical title was the essential thing.

"All right, doctor; I have been directed to admit you. Pass in, sir."

Job was familiar with the interior of the fort, and he led the way; but
before they had crossed the parade, the soldier who had gone for the
doctor came to them, and conducted them to a casemate, where the sick
soldier was still suffering terrible pains.

"Lieutenant Fourchon, this is the doctor; but I do not know his name,"
said the soldier.

"Dr. Waterton," added Mr. Pennant.

"I am glad to see you, Dr. Waterton, for I have exhausted all my
remedies," said Lieutenant Fourchon. "I was not born to be a doctor.
The patient seems to be no better."

"It does not look like a very bad case," added the doctor, finding it
necessary to say something, as he felt the pulse of the sufferer.

Though the lieutenant of the Bronx was not a physician, he was not
altogether a pretender, for in the capacity of mate and temporary
commander, he had done duty in the healing art in the absence of a more
skilful person.

"A glass of water and a teaspoon," said