I've managed to get into most
of these blessed fights about Richmond, and yet I haven't so much as a pin
prick to show for it. But what's wrong with you? Not much, I hope. I've
just seen Bland, and he told me he thought you were left at Malvern Hill
during that hard rain on Tuesday night. How did you get knocked over,
anyway?"
"A rifle ball went through my leg," replied Dan impatiently. "I say, Big
Abel, can't you flirt that fan a little faster? These confounded flies
stick like molasses." Then he held up his left hand and looked at it with a
grim smile. "A nasty fragment of a shell took off a couple of my fingers,"
he added. "At first I thought they had begun throwing hornets' nests from
their guns--it felt just like it. Yes, that's the worst with me so far;
I've still got a bone to my leg, and I'll be on the field again before
long, thank God."
"Well, the worst thing about getting wounded is being stuffed into a hole
like this," returned Jack, glancing about contemptuously. "Whoever has had
the charge of our hospital arrangements may congratulate himself that he
has made a ghastly mess of them. Why, I found a man over there in the
corner whose leg had mortified from sheer neglect, and he told me that the
supplies for the sick had given out, and they'd offered him cornbread and
bacon for breakfast."
Dan began to toss restlessly, grumbling beneath his breath. "If you ever
see a ball making in your direction," he advised, "dodge it clean or take
it square in the mouth; don't go in for any compromises with a gun, they
aren't worth it.
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