He fell at the head of his
men.
The fighting now became a battle. It was no longer a rout.
Ned saw a lone deaf man in blue standing bareheaded, fighting a whole
army so intent on his work he hadn't noticed that his regiment had
retreated and left him.
Two men in grey raised their muskets and fired point blank at this man
at the same instant. The unconscious hero fell.
"I hit him!" cried one.
"No, I hit him!" said the other.
And they both rushed up and tenderly offered him help.
A grey soldier came hurrying by taking two prisoners to the rear. A
cannon ball from the rescued battery cut off his leg and he dropped
beside Ned shouting hysterically:
"Pick me up! Pick me up! Why don't you pick me up?"
The blue prisoner looked back in terror at the battery and started to
run. A grey soldier stopped them:
"Here! Here! What'ell's the matter with you? Them's your own guns. What
are ye tryin' to get away from 'em for?"
Men were falling now at every step.
Ned had advanced a hundred yards further when the boy on his right
suddenly threw his hands over his head and his leg full to the ground,
cut off by a cannon ball, Ned leaped to his side and caught him in his
arms. A look of anguish swept his strong young face as he gasped:
"My poor old mother! O my God, what'll she do now?"
Ned tied his handkerchief around the mangled leg, twisted the knot, and
stayed the blood gushing from the severed arteries, and rushed back to
his desperate work.
Pages:
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416