"But you may be shot, there!" the major remarked, in a conversational tone of voice, as he cantered beside the gun-team.
"If you'll excuse me, sir," said the boy, "but I'm in no more danger than the rest of us."
"But that of course!"
"It is 'that of course' for me, too, sir, if you'll let me," Horace said.
The major smiled under his grizzled mustache and galloped on.
The road was cut into deep ruts and great care was needed in driving, for the ditches were filled with wounded. To lighten the loads, the gunners ran alongside the guns and ammunition wagons. Darkness fell over the scene. The battle came to a lull. Night covered the slaughter. Never in his life before had Horace been so glad to see the dark.
The boy's first battle was over.
None of the gun crew, now, rode on the limbers. Every available point on which a man could lie or sit was crowded with wounded. Many of the wounds were terrible, but few of the sufferers complained.
One man was lifted off, dying, as the battery stopped for a moment.