The Sword of Antietam: A Story of the Nation's Crisis Part 17

"Take the lantern, Jim," said the leader. Then he knelt down and put his finger on his brother's wrist.

"He ain't dead," he said at last. "His pulse is beatin' an' he'll come to soon. The rain helped him. Whar was he hit? By gum, here it is! A bullet has ploughed all along the side of his head, runnin' 'roun' his skull. Here, you Yank, did you think you could kill Sam by shootin' him in the head with a bullet? We've stood him up in front of our lines, and let you fellows break fifty pound sh.e.l.ls on his head. You never done him no harm, 'cept once when two solid shot struck him at the same time an'

he had a headache nigh until sundown. Besides havin' natural thickness of the skull Sam trained his head by b.u.t.tin' with the black boys when he was young."

d.i.c.k saw that the man really felt deep emotion and was chattering, partly to hide it. He was glad that they had found his brother, and he helped them to lift him. Then they rubbed Sam's wrists and poured a stimulant down his throat. In a few minutes he stood alone on his feet, yawned mightily, and by the light of the dim lantern gazed at them in a sort of stupid wonder.

"What's happened?" he asked.

"What's happened?" replied his brother. "You was always late with the news, Sam. Of course you've been takin' a nap, but a lot has happened.

We met the Yankees an' we've been fightin' 'em for two days. Tremenjous big battle, an' we've whipped 'em. 'Scuse me, Yank, I forgot you was with us. Well, nigh onto a million have been killed, which ought to be enough for anybody. I love my country, but I don't care to love another at such a price. But resumin' 'bout you pussonally, Sam, you stopped so many sh.e.l.ls an' solid shot with that thick head of yourn that the concussion at last put you to sleep, an' we've found you so we kin take you in out of the wet an' let you sleep in a dry place. Kin you walk?"

Sam made an effort, but staggered badly.

"Jim, you an' Dave take him by each shoulder an' walk him back to camp,"

said the lantern bearer. "You jest keep straight ahead an' you'll b.u.t.t into Ma.r.s.e Bob or old Stonewall, one or the other."

"You lead the way with the lantern."

"Never you mind about me or the lantern."

"What you goin' to do?"

"Me? I'm goin' to keep this lantern an' help Yank here find his friend.

Ain't he done stuck with us till we found Sam, an' I reckon I'll stick with him till he gits the boy he's lookin for, dead or alive. Now, you keep Sam straight, and walk him back to camp. He ain't hurt. Why, that bullet didn't dent his skull. It said to itself when it came smack up against the bone: 'This is too tough for me, I guess I'll go 'roun'.'

An' it did go 'roun'. You can see whar it come out of the flesh on the other side. Why, by the time Sam was fourteen years old we quit splittin' old boards with an axe or a hatchet. We jest let Sam set on a log an' we split 'em over his head. Everybody was suited. Sam could make himself pow'ful useful without havin' to work."

Nevertheless, the lantern bearer gave his brother the tenderest care, and watched him until he and the men on either side of him were lost in the darkness as they walked toward the Southern camp.

"I jest had to come an' find old Sam, dead or alive," he said. "Now, which way, Yank, do you think this friend of yours is layin'?"

"But you're comin' with us," repeated Jim.

"No, I'm not. Didn't Yank here help us find Sam? An' are we to let the Yanks give us lessons in manners? I reckon not. 'Sides, he's only a boy, an' I'm goin' to see him through."

"I thank you," said d.i.c.k, much moved.

"Don't thank me too much, 'cause while I'm walkin' 'roun' with you friendly like to-night I may shoot you to-morrow."

"I thank you, all the same," said d.i.c.k, his grat.i.tude in nowise diminished.

"Them that will stir no more are layin' mighty thick 'roun' here, but we ought to find your friend pretty soon. By gum, how it rains! W'all, it'll wash away some big stains, that wouldn't look nice in the mornin'.

Say, sonny, what started this rumpus, anyway?"

"I don't know."

"An' I don't, either, so I guess it's hoss an' hoss with you an' me.

But, sonny, I'll bet you a cracker ag'in a barrel of beef that none of them that did start the rumpus are a-layin' on this field to-night. What kind of lookin' feller did you say your young friend was?"

"Very tall, very thin, and about my age or perhaps a year or two older."

"Take a good look, an' see if this ain't him."

He held up the lantern and the beams fell upon a long figure half raised upon an elbow. The figure was turned toward the light and stared unknowing at d.i.c.k and the Southerner. There was a great clot of blood upon his right breast and shoulder, but it was Warner. d.i.c.k swallowed hard.

"Yes," he said, "it's my comrade, but he's hurt badly."

"So bad that he don't know you or anybody else. He's clean out of his head."

They leaned over him, and d.i.c.k called:

"George! George! It's d.i.c.k Mason, your comrade, come to help you back to camp!"

But Warner merely stared with feverish, unseeing eyes.

"He's out of his head, as I told you, an' he's like to be for many hours," said the lantern bearer. "It's a sh.o.r.e thing that I won't shoot him to-morrow, nor he won't shoot me."

He leaned over Warner and carefully examined the wound.

"He's lucky, after all," he said, "the bullet went in just under the right shoulder, but it curved, as bullets have a way of doin' sometimes, an' has come out on the side. There ain't no lead in him now, which is good. He was pow'ful lucky, too, in not bein' hit in the head, 'cause he ain't got no such skull as Sam has, not within a mile of it. His skull wouldn't have turned no bullet. He has lost a power of blood, but if you kin get him back to camp, an' use the med'cines which you Yanks have in such lots an' which we haven't, he may get well."

"That's good advice," said d.i.c.k. "Help me up with him."

"Take him on your back. That's the best way to carry a sick man."

He set down his lantern, took up Warner bodily and put him on d.i.c.k's back.

"I guess you can carry him all right," he said. "I'd light you with the lantern a piece of the way, but I've been out here long enough. Ma.r.s.e Bob an' old Stonewall will get tired waitin' fur me to tell 'em how to end this war in a month."

d.i.c.k, holding Warner in place with one hand, held out the other, and said:

"You're a white man, through and through, Johnny Reb. Shake!"

"So are you, Yank. There's nothin' wrong with you 'cept that you happened to get on the wrong side, an' I don't hold that ag'in you. I guess it was an innercent mistake."

"Good-bye."

"Good-bye. Keep straight ahead an' you'll strike that camp of yourn that we're goin' to take in the mornin'. Gosh, how it rains!"

d.i.c.k retained his idea of direction, and he walked straight through the darkness toward the Northern camp. George was a heavy load, but he did not struggle. His head sank down against his comrade's and d.i.c.k felt that it was burning with fever.

"Good old George," he murmured to himself rather than to his comrade, "I'll save you."

Excitement and resolve had given him a strength twice the normal, a strength that would last the fifteen or twenty minutes needed until this task was finished. Despite the darkness and the driving rain, he could now see the lights in his own camp, and bending forward a little to support the dead weight on his back, he walked in a straight course toward them.

"Halt! Who are you?"

The form of a sentinel, rifle raised, rose up before him in the darkness and the rain.

"Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Winchester's regiment, bringing in Lieutenant George Warner of the same regiment, who is badly wounded."