Part 74 (1/2)
”You've got the biggest set I ever saw then!” the Captain said, helping him to clear his eyes.
A sh.e.l.l exploded squarely against the gun carriage, hurling it into junk and piling all four horses on the ground. Their dying cries rang pitifully through the smoke-wreathed woods. One horse lifted his head, placed both fore feet on the ground and tried to rise. His hind legs were only shreds of torn flesh. He neighed a long, quivering, soul-piercing shriek of agony and a merciful officer drew his revolver and killed him.
A cannoneer lay by this horse's side with both his legs hopelessly crushed so high in the thick flesh of the thighs there was no hope. He was moaning horribly. He turned his eyes in agony to the officer who had shot the horse:
”Please, Captain--for the love of G.o.d--shoot me, too, I can't live----”
The Captain shook his head.
”Have mercy on me--for Jesus' sake--kill me--you were kind to my horse--can't you do as much for me?”
The Captain turned away in anguish. He couldn't even send for morphine.
The South had no more morphine. The blockade's iron hand was on her hospitals now.
Ned fought for half an hour behind a tree. Twice the bullets striking the hark knocked pieces into his eyes. He was sure at least fifty Minie b.a.l.l.s struck it.
A bald-headed Colonel rushed by at double quick leading a fresh regiment into action to support them. The h.e.l.l of battle was not so hot the Southern soldier had lost his sense of humor. They were glad to see this das.h.i.+ng old fighter and they told him so in no uncertain way.
”Hurrah for Baldy!”
”Sick 'em, Baldy--sick 'em----”
”I'll bet on old man Baldy every time----”
”Hurrah for the bald-headed man!”
The Colonel paid no attention to their shouts. The flash of his muskets in the deepening twilight turned the tide in their favor. The big guns had been unlimbered and pulled back deeper into the blue lines.
John Vaughan's line was swung to support the charge of Hooker's old division which first halted the rush of Jackson's men. In the field beyond the Chancellor House stood a huge straw stack. As the regiment rushed by at double quick the Colonel spied a panic-stricken officer crouching in terror behind the pile.
The Colonel slapped him across the shoulders with his sword:
”What sort of a place is this for you, sir?”
Through chattering teeth came the trembling response:
”W-w-hy, m-my G.o.d, do you think the bullets can come through?”
The Colonel threw up his hands in rage and pressed on with his men.
A wagon loaded with entrenching tools, on which sat half a dozen negroes rattled by on its way to the rear. A solid shot plumped squarely into the load.
John saw picks, spades, shovels and negroes suddenly fill the air. Every negro lit on his feet and his legs were running when he struck the ground. They reached the tall timber before the last pick fell.
The regiments were going into battle double quick, but they were not going so fast they couldn't laugh.
”Hurry up men!” the Colonel called. ”Hurry up, let's get in there and help 'em!”
A moment more and they were in it.
The man beside John threw up both hands and dropped with the dull, unmistakable thud of death--the soldier who has been in battle knows the sickening sound.