Then he reloaded swiftly, and pressed on toward the Union center.
"What troops are these?" he asked of an officer who was knotting a
handkerchief about a bleeding wrist.
"From Illinois. Who are you?"
"I'm Lieutenant Richard Mason of Colonel Arthur Winchester's Kentucky
regiment. I was taken prisoner by the enemy last night, but I escaped
this morning. Do you know where my regiment is?"
"Keep straight on, and you'll strike it or what's left of it, if
anything at all is left. It's a black day."
Dick scarcely caught his last words, as he dashed on through bullets,
shell and solid shot over slain men and horses, over dismantled guns
and gun carriages, and into the very heart of the flame and smoke. The
thunder of the battle was at its height now, because he was in the
center of it. The roar of the great guns was continuous, but the
unbroken crash of rifles by the scores of thousands was fiercer and
more deadly.
The officer had pointed toward the Kentucky regiment with his sword,
and following the line Dick ran directly into it. The very first face
he saw was that of Colonel Winchester.
"Dick, my lad," shouted the Colonel, "where have you come from?"
"From the Southern army. I was taken prisoner last night almost within
sight of our own, but when they charged this morning they forgot me and
here I am."
Colonel Winchester suddenly seized him by the shoulders and pushed
him down. The regiment was behind a small ridge which afforded some
protection, and all were lying down except the senior officers.
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