The fall of the gigantic Tennessee lieutenant had created something like a panic among his cavalrymen who were pressing forward to flank the Kentuckians; and Sergeant Fronklyn, his face still covered with blood, seized the opportunity of their retirement to the rear to drag the form of Lieutenant Lyon out of the mêlée, and place him on the bank of the creek which bounded the camp on the west.
His first care was to wet his handkerchief from his canteen, and wash the blood from his face, so that he could see better. Then he felt of his wound which was somewhat swollen, and found the scalpskin was torn away from his head just above the temple. The bullet from the pistol of the trooper had glanced across his head with force enough to stun him without making a very bad wound. He washed it with the handkerchief, and then tied it over the top of his head, and under his chin.
He realized that he had had a very narrow escape from death; for if the ball had hit him an inch lower, it would certainly have killed him. He took a long draught of water from his canteen, and felt better. He was very thankful for his escape, and believed he should recover from the wound in a week. He knew that he was a prisoner; but it was probable that the Union army would open fire upon the intrenchments the next morning, and would capture it in the end, be it sooner or later.
He had seated himself by the side of the motionless form of his officer, not doubting that he was dead, though he immediately proceeded to satisfy himself on this question. He placed his hand on his heart. He had been a student in a medical institution at the time of his enlistment, and had made considerable progress in his studies, and had assisted Dr. Farnwright in the hospital when the occasion would permit.
The organ of life was still beating, and he uttered an exclamation of satisfaction. Thus encouraged, he continued to investigate the condition of the lieutenant. He could find no open wound, but there was a considerable swelling on the top of the head. He was convinced that the case would not be fatal. Taking the patient's handkerchief from the inside of his coat, he wet it thoroughly from his canteen. Then he unloosed the belt, and opened wide his coat.
He sprinkled the face from the wet handkerchief, and then bathed it very patiently for half an hour. At the end of this time the patient opened his eyes, slowly at first, and soon had them wide open. He recovered his consciousness later, and complained of a nausea at his stomach, and he continued to have an increase of the symptom till he had discharged the contents of that member.
"I feel better," said he very faintly, as he looked about him, and seemed to be bewildered. "Who are you?" he inquired; for it was too dark by this time for him to see anything distinctly.
"I am Sergeant Fronklyn," replied his attentive nurse. "Don't you know me, Lieutenant Lyon?"
"I should know you if I could see your face," replied Deck with a stronger voice.
"It is becoming rather dark about here. Have you any pain, Lieutenant?" inquired the sergeant.