"I am shot!"

And both fell to the ground together.

"That's what ye call two birds with one stun!" said Tucket, a flash of ferocity kindling his face as he saw his comrades fall. "Pay 'em for that, boys! Pay 'em for that!"

And hearing the order to charge the thicket, he went forward with a yell, taking strides that would have done credit to a moose in his own native woods of Maine.

Ellis had by this time got upon his feet again. But Jack lay still, his neck bathed in blood.

XXVIII.

JACK WINCH'S CATASTROPHE.

Several companies were by this time engaged driving in the rebel skirmishers, and three or four men had been disabled.

It was impracticable to take the stretchers, or litters for the wounded, into such a wilderness of bogs and thickets; and accordingly the most forward and courageous of the carriers leaped into the swamps without them.

As soon as Frank heard that some of his company had been wounded, all sense of danger to himself was forgotten, and no remonstrance from his friend the drum-major could prevent his rushing in to a.s.sist in bringing them off.

Finding that the boy, whose welfare was so precious to him, could not be restrained, Mr. Sinjin plunged in with him, and kept at his side, scrambling through mud and brush and water, and over logs and roots, in the direction of the firing.

They had not gone far when they met a wounded soldier coming out. His right hand hung mangled and ghastly and bleeding at his side. A slug from a rifle musket had ploughed it through, nearly severing the fingers from the wrist.

"Ellis!" cried Frank--"you hurt?"

Ned swung the disabled and red-dripping member up to view, with a sorry smile.

"Not so bad as might be!" he said, with a rather faint show of gayety.

"Jack has got it worse."

"Jack who?"--for there were several Jacks in the company.

"Winch," said Ellis, whilst the old drummer was binding up his hand to stop the blood.

"Is he killed?" asked Frank, with a strange feeling--almost of remorse, remembering his late bitter and vindictive thoughts towards John.

"I don't know. We were both hit by the same ball, I believe. It must have pa.s.sed through his neck. It came from one side, and we tumbled both together. What I tumbled for, I don't know. It didn't take me long to pick myself up again!"

"And Jack?"

"There he lies, with blood all over his face."

"And n.o.body caring for him?"

"The boys have something else to think of!" said Ellis, with a pallid smile.

Mr. Sinjin, having tied up the wound, directed him how to find the surgeon. And Ellis, in return, pointed out the best way to get at Jack.

The company had advanced, driving the rebel skirmishers before them, and leaving Winch where he had fallen. Frank and his companion soon reached the spot. There lay the hapless youth under the roots of the tree, the left side of his face and neck all covered with gore.

"Jack!" cried Frank, stooping by his side, and lifting his arm.

No answer. The arm fell heavily again as he released it.

"Dead!" said the boy, a sudden calmness coming over him. "We may as well leave him where he is, and look for others."

"Not dead yet," said the more experienced Sinjin, feeling Jack's heart, which was beating still. In corroboration of which statement Winch uttered something between a gasp and a groan, and rolled up horrible eyes.

Frank was standing, and the old man was trying to find Winch's wound, in order to prevent his bleeding to death while they were carrying him out, when the report of a rifle sounded, seemingly quite near, and a bullet pa.s.sed with a swift vehement buzz close by their ears. At the instant Frank felt something like a quick tap or jerk on his arm. He looked, and saw that the strip of red flannel, which betokened the service he was engaged in, and which should have rendered his person sacred from any intentional harm, had been shot away. A hole had been torn in his sleeve also, but his flesh was untouched.

The old drummer looked up quickly.

"Are you hurt?"

"No," said Frank, feeling of his arm while he looked around to discover where the shot came from. "It must have been a spent ball; for, see! it fell there in the water!"--pointing at a pool behind them, the surface of which was still rippling with the plunge of the shot.

Winch gave another groan.

"The wound must be an internal one," said Sinjin, "for he is not bleeding much now."

Frank a.s.sisted to lift him, and together they bore him back towards the road. It was a difficult task. Frank had neither the stature nor the strength of a man; but he made up in energy and good will what he lacked in force. Very carefully, very tenderly, through bogs and through thickets, they carried the helpless, heavy weight of the blood-stained volunteer.

"Frank! is it you?" murmured Winch, faintly.

"Yes, Jack!" panted the boy, out of breath with exertion.

"Am I killed?" articulated Jack.

"O, no!" said Frank. "You've got a bullet in you somewhere; but I guess the surgeon will soon have it out, and you'll be all right again."

"O!" groaned Jack.

Just then there came another rifle-crack, not quite so near as before, and another bullet came with its angry buzz. It cut a twig just over Mr.

Sinjin's head, and grazed a cypress tree farther on, at a point considerably lower, and with a downward slant, as the mark revealed.

"Another spent ball," said Frank.

But the old drummer shook his head. "Those are no spent b.a.l.l.s. Some murderous rebel is aiming at us."

"How can that be?"

"I don't know. And our best way is not to stop to inquire, but to get out of this as soon as possible."

"Frank!" groaned the burden they were bearing.

"What, Jack?"