Accordingly
he ran on behind the lines of horse, to find a place where he might
thrust himself in. Where his own comrades were he could not tell.
Bullets were flying thick around him as he ran, but he did not give
the matter a thought. It was characteristic of him all through his
life, indeed, that when his attention and interest were strongly
engaged on one matter he was all but oblivious to every other
consideration.
At length his chance appeared, and an opening presented itself.
Springing over the prostrate bodies of men and horses, he reached the
bank. To his surprise the stream seemed to be very deep. As a matter
of fact the waters were dammed lower down by the mass of fallen men
and animals lying across their bed. Without hesitation he dashed into
the flood, his sole thought being to get himself across and so into
the enemy's lines. With his sword held tightly between his teeth, the
boy officer swam, as many another lusty Peterite would have been able
to do. He reached mid stream.
Suddenly he became aware of a sharp pain in his left shoulder. A
moment later he grew faint. In vain he struggled to keep afloat; the
world grew dark to him, and he sank beneath the surface.
A tall fellow, fully six foot three in his stockings, if he was an
inch, had just managed to wade through the stream, his nose above the
surface, a comical sight, if anybody had had the time to notice it.
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