The Drummer Boy

  XXVIII.

  JACK WINCH'S CATASTROPHE.

  Several companies were by this time engaged driving in the rebelskirmishers, 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 mostforward and courageous of the carriers leaped into the swamps withoutthem.

  As soon as Frank heard that some of his company had been wounded, allsense of danger to himself was forgotten, and no remonstrance from hisfriend the drum-major could prevent his rushing in to assist in bringingthem off.

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

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

  "Ellis!" cried Frank--"you hurt?"

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

  "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 tostop 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 havepassed through his neck. It came from one side, and we tumbled bothtogether. What I tumbled for, I don't know. It didn't take me long topick myself up again!"

  "And Jack?"

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

  "And nobody caring for him?"

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

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

  The company had advanced, driving the rebel skirmishers before them, andleaving Winch where he had fallen. Frank and his companion soon reachedthe spot. There lay the hapless youth under the roots of the tree, theleft 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 wellleave 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 Winchuttered something between a gasp and a groan, and rolled up horribleeyes.

  Frank was standing, and the old man was trying to find Winch's wound, inorder to prevent his bleeding to death while they were carrying him out,when the report of a rifle sounded, seemingly quite near, and a bulletpassed with a swift vehement buzz close by their ears. At the instantFrank felt something like a quick tap or jerk on his arm. He looked, andsaw that the strip of red flannel, which betokened the service he wasengaged in, and which should have rendered his person sacred from anyintentional harm, had been shot away. A hole had been torn in his sleevealso, 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 discoverwhere the shot came from. "It must have been a spent ball; for, see! itfell there in the water!"--pointing at a pool behind them, the surface ofwhich 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 bleedingmuch now."

  Frank assisted to lift him, and together they bore him back towards theroad. It was a difficult task. Frank had neither the stature nor thestrength of a man; but he made up in energy and good will what he lackedin force. Very carefully, very tenderly, through bogs and throughthickets, they carried the helpless, heavy weight of the blood-stainedvolunteer.

  "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 guessthe 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 pointconsiderably 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 balls. Somemurderous 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 outof this as soon as possible."

  "Frank!" groaned the burden they were bearing.

  "What, Jack?"

  "Forgive me, Frank!"

  "For what?" said Frank, cheerily.

  "For writing home lies about you."

  "They were not all lies, I'm sorry to say, Jack. But even if they were, Iforgive you from my very soul."

  Jack groaned, and said no more. Assistants now came to meet them, andFrank, who was almost exhausted with the fatigue of bringing his comradeso far, was relieved of the burden. The road was near, and Jack was soonlaid upon a stretcher.

  "Frank!" he gasped, rolling his eyes again, "don't leave me! For God'ssake, stay by me, Frank!"

  So Frank kept by his side, while the men bore him along the road to atree, where the surgeon had hung up his red flag, and established hishospital.

  Ellis had just undergone the amputation of his mangled hand, without onceflinching under the surgeon's knife, and he remained on the spot toencourage Winch.

  "If I die," began Jack, stirring himself more than he had been observedto do before. "Frank, do you hear me?"

  "What is it, Jack?" asked the sympathizing boy.

  "If I die, don't let me be buried on this miserable island!"

  "But you are not going to die," said the surgeon, kindly, cutting awaythe clothes from his neck.

  Mr. Sinjin assisted, while Frank anxiously awaited the result of theexamination. The surgeon looked puzzled. There was blood, but not anyfresh blood--and no wound! Not so much as a scratch of the skin.

  Jack in the mean time was groaning dismally.

  "What are you making that noise for?" exclaimed the surgeon, sharply."There isn't a hurt about you!"

  "Ain't I shot?" cried Jack, starting up, as much astonished as any body;for he had really believed he was a dead man. "I was hit, I know! and Iswooned away."

  "You swooned from fright, then," declared the indignant surgeon. "Takethe fellow away!"

  Jack, however, gratified as he was to learn he was not killed, testilyinsisted that a bullet had passed through him, adducing the blood on hisface as a proof.

  Thereupon Ellis broke into a laugh.

  "It takes Jack to make capital out of a little borrowed blood. I knowsomething about that. When my hand was ploughed through, I slapped itagainst his face; and down he went, fainting dead away." And,notwithstanding the ache of his wound and his weakness, and the scenes ofhorror thickening around, Ned leaned back against the tree, and laughedmerrily at what he called Jack's "awful big scare."

  Frank felt immensely relieved, at first, on learning that Jack was notkilled; then immensely amused; and, lastly, immensely disgusted. Heremembered the severe struggle it cost to bring him out of the swamp, therolled-up eyes, the lugubrious groans, and the faintly murmured dyingrequest to be forgiven. And in the revulsion of his feelin
gs he could nothelp saying, "Yes, Jack, I forgive ye! and if you die, you shan't beburied on this miserable island."

  He was excited when he uttered this taunt, and he was sorry for itafterwards. Seeing the craven slink away, conscious of the scorn of everybody, he felt a touch of pity for him.

  "Jack," said he, with friendly intent, "why don't you go back and wipeout this disgrace? _I_ would."

  "Because," snarled Jack, goaded by his own shame and the generalcontempt, "I'm hurt, I tell ye! _internally_, I s'pose,"--for he hadheard Mr. Sinjin use the word, and thought it a good one to suit hiscase. And he lay down wretchedly by the roadside, and counterfeitedanguish, while the fresh troops marched by to the battle.

  A fiery impulse seized the drummer boy. He glanced at his torn sleeve,from which the badge had been shot away, and thought there was somethingbesides accident in what appeared so much like an omen. If it meant anything, was it not that his place was elsewhere than in the ambulancecorps?

  He turned to Mr. Sinjin, and asked to be excused from going with thestretcher. And Mr. Sinjin, who prized the boy's safety too highly to wishto see him go again under fire, was only too glad to excuse him, neveronce suspecting what wild purpose was in his heart.

  The battle was now fairly begun. The rebel battery had opened. Thecontinual rattle of musketry and the thunder of heavy cannon shook theisland. The regiments in line in front of the cleared space before thebattery, returned the fire with energy, and the marine howitzers alsoresponded. Soon a shell from the enemy's work came flying through thewoods with a hum, which increased to a howl, and burst with a startlingexplosion within a few rods of the hospital. Nobody was hurt; but theincident had a very marked effect on Jack Winch. He got better at once,and moved to the rear with an alacrity surprisingly in contrast with hisrecent helplessness.