He stumbled to the wall and lay
down, his head aching. He could go no further. "Queer, that," he
murmured; "they might have seen." He sat up; things around him were
doubled to his view.
"Are you hit?" said Haskell, who was directing stretcher-bearers and
sending prisoners to the rear.
"Not badly." He was giddy and in great pain. Then he was aware of the
anxious face of Josiah.
"My God! you hurt, sir? Come to look for you--can you ride? I fetched
Dixy--mare's killed."
"I am not badly hurt. Tighten this handkerchief and give me your
arm--I can't ride,"
He arose, and amazed at his weakness, dragged himself down the slope,
through the reforming lines, the thousands of prisoners, the reinforcing
cannon and the wreckage of the hillside. He fell on his couch, and more
at ease began to think, with some difficulty in controlling his thoughts.
At last he said, "I shall be up to-morrow," and lay still, seeing, as the
late afternoon went by, Grey Pine and Ann Penhallow. Then he was aware of
Captain Haskell and a surgeon, who dressed his wound and said, "It was
mere shock--there is no fracture. The ball cut the artery and tore the
scalp. You'll be all right in a day or two."
Penhallow said, "Please to direct my servant to the Sanitary Commission.
I think my friend, the Rev.
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