A grey soldier came hurrying by taking two prisoners to the rear. A cannon ball from the rescued battery cut off his leg and he dropped beside Ned shouting hysterically:
"Pick me up! Pick me up! Why don't you pick me up?"
The blue prisoner looked back in terror at the battery and started to run. A grey soldier stopped them:
"Here! Here! What'ell's the matter with you? Them's your own guns. What are ye tryin' to get away from 'em for?"
Men were falling now at every step.
Ned had advanced a hundred yards further when the boy on his right suddenly threw his hands over his head and his leg full to the ground, cut off by a cannon ball, Ned leaped to his side and caught him in his arms. A look of anguish swept his strong young face as he gasped:
"My poor old mother! O my God, what'll she do now?"
Ned tied his handkerchief around the mangled leg, twisted the knot, and stayed the blood gushing from the severed arteries, and rushed back to his desperate work.
Four horses dashed by his side dragging through the woods a big gun to train on the battery that was plowing through their lines. A solid shot crashed straight through a horse's head, blinding Ned with blood and brains.
He threw his hand to his face and buried it in the hot quivering mass, exclaiming: