He cast his bloodshot eyes at the rabble of fleeing men.
"And to think that they are soldiers of the line!" he moaned, and closed his eyes, as though to shut out the sight.
"We must get him out of this," said Orme quietly, and he turned away to call to some of the Forty-Eighth who were rushing past. But they did not even turn their heads. With an oath, Orme seized one by the collar.
"A purse of sixty guineas!" he cried, dangling it before his eyes, but the man threw him fiercely off, and continued on his way. Orme turned back to us, his face grim with anger and despair.
"'Tis useless," he said. "We cannot stop them. The devil himself could not stop them now."
The general had lain with his eyes closed and scarce breathing, so that I thought that he had fainted. But he opened his eyes, and seemed to read at a glance the meaning of Orme's set face.
"Gentlemen," he said, more gently than I had ever heard him speak, "I pray you leave me here and provide for your own safety. I have but a little time to live at best, and the Indians will be upon us in a moment. Leave them to finish me. You could not do a kinder thing. I have no wish that you should sacrifice your lives so uselessly by remaining here with me. There has been enough of sacrifice this day."
Yes, he was a gallant man, and whatever of resentment had been in my heart against him vanished in that instant. We three looked into each other's eyes, and read the same determination there. We would save the general, or die defending him. But the situation was indeed a desperate one.
At that moment, a tumbrel drawn by two maddened horses dashed by. One wheel caught against a tree, and before the horses could get it free or break from the harness, I had sprung to their heads.
"Quick!" I cried, "I cannot hold them long."