A danger that neither had dreamed of was now threatening the life of Justin Rosenthal.
It appeared that the Minie ball which had killed his horse under him had also passed through his own leg, severing some important vein or artery. The dead weight of the horse falling upon this limb, had closed the orifice, and stopped the bleeding. But now, at the removal of the weight, the wound burst out again, and the life-stream of the man was running fast away. He lay panting, fainting, almost dying, when Wing came up to him.
“My Colonel! oh, what is the matter?” inquired Wing, in a voice vibrating with anxiety.
“I think that I am dying, Wing. But come here, boy. Come close. Stoop down and listen to me.”
“But what is it? oh, my Colonel, what is it? Where is your wound? What can I do for you?” wailed Wing, weeping like a woman and wringing his hands.
“I think that the femoral artery is severed, Wing, and that I am bleeding to death.”
“Oh, no, no, no!” groaned Wing.
“Cease lamenting, dear boy. Mine is but a soldier’s fate. How egotistical to bemoan it. Only remember, Wing, and tell my dear sister that I fell in the glorious charge of Wilson’s cavalry at Cold Harbor.”
“I will tell her! I will tell her! But I cannot give you up! I WILL not give you up! You must not die! You SHALL not die! Where is this severed artery? I will pinch it together with my fingers until I stop the bleeding, and I will hold it so all night and all day, and many nights and days, if necessary, until surgical relief comes to you!” cried Wing.
“Ah, my boy, you must hurry from this spot. Every hour that you stay here is fraught with death. You are actually within the rebel lines, Wing. How you ever succeeded in getting here undetected I cannot imagine, unless both chance and the darkness of the night favored you. But now, my boy, you must receive my last message for one I love, and you must hurry back before daylight betrays you to the enemy and to captivity,” said Colonel Rosenthal, gravely.