"You'll be safe enough," gasped the other somewhat ungratefully, Seaman thought, "but there will be a dozen bullets through me."
There seemed to be something in that statement. Elisha decided that it would be a cruel kindness to turn this man into a target for the bullets which were coming across the field and make him act as his involuntary shield.
"I'll tell you what I'll do, General," Seaman said finally; "I'll get you up and then I'll back down to our lines. If any one gets hit, it'll be me.
He was as good as his word. Although the wounded officer was a large man, Seaman got a fireman's-lift on him, swung him over his shoulders and then facing the Confederate lines, slowly backed his way toward safety. At first the Confederate fire redoubled as the men in gray thought that he was simply effecting the capture of one of their men. When, however, they realized that he was protecting one of their own officers from their fire with his own body, all along the line the fusillade of musketry died down and there came down the wind in its place the sound of a storm of cheers which swept from one end of the Confederate position to the other. Seaman covered the last fifty yards of his dangerous journey without a shot being fired at him except the shot and shell from the batteries which were being worked too far back for the gunners to know what was going on. The surgeon with whom he had spoken had been attracted to the front by the shouts and cheers both from the Confederate lines and from Seaman's own comrades and was the first to help him over the breastworks.
"You're a great fool," he said. "I thought you were talking about one of our men, but so long as you brought this poor Reb in at the risk of your life, I'll certainly cure him."
And he did.
Another man whose courage flared up superior to wounds and mutilation and who was brave enough to do his duty in spite of the agony he was suffering, was Corporal Miles James, who on September 30, 1864, at Chapins Farm, Virginia, with the rest of his company was attacking the enemy's works. They had charged up to within thirty yards of the fortifications when they were met by a murderous storm of grape and canister, the enemy having held their fire until the very last moment. A grape-shot cut through Corporal James' left arm just above the elbow, smashing right through the middle of the bone and cutting the arm half off so that it dangled by the severed muscles. The force of the blow whirled James around like a top and he fell over to the ground, but was on his feet again in an instant and started for the Confederate line like the bulldog that he was.
"Go back, Corporal," shouted one of his men. "Your arm's half off and you'll bleed to death."
"No I won't," yelled James; "my right arm is my fighting-arm anyway."
"Let me tie you up then," said the man, pulling him to the ground where the rest of the regiment lay flat on their faces waiting for the storm to pass so that they might charge again. "There's plenty of time."