ing numbers of the Austrians, in spite of a valorous resistance, and on the morning of the 27th they sadly retreated towards the Mincio.
The captain, although wounded, made the march on foot with his soldiers, weary and silent, and arrived at the close of the day at Goito, on the Mincio. He at once sought out his lieutenant, who had been picked up by the ambulance, with his arm shattered, and who must have arrived before him. He was directed to a church, where the field hospital had been installed in haste. He went there. The church was full of wounded men, ranged in two lines of beds, and on mattresses spread on the floor. Two doctors and numerous assistants were going and coming, busily occupied; and suppressed cries and groans could be heard.
No sooner had the captain entered than he halted and cast a glance around, in search of his officer.
At that moment he heard himself called in a weak voice,—
“Signor Captain!”
He turned round. It was his drummer-boy. He was lying on a cot bed, covered to the breast with a coarse window curtain, in red and white squares, with his arms on the outside, pale and thin, but his eyes still sparkled like black gems.
“Are you here?” asked the captain, amazed, but still sharply. “Bravo! You did your duty.”
“I did all I could,” replied the drummer-boy.
“Were you wounded?” said the captain, seeking with his eyes for his officer in the neighboring beds.
“What could one expect?” said the lad, who gained
