The bullet meant to
kill him, but finding his head too hard, it turned away, and went out
through his hair. He won't have any scar, either, because it's all under
the thickest part of his hair.
"Of course his eyes are closed, ma'am. He hasn't come around yet,
but he's coming fast. Don't cry on his face, ma'am. Boys never like to
have their faces cried on. I'd have brought him in myself, but I found I
was too weak to carry him. It's been too short a time since the Second
Manassas for me to have got back all my strength. So I just bound up his
head, held it in my lap, and yelled for help. Along came a rebel party,
bearing two wounded, and they looked at me. 'You're about pumped out,'
said one of them, 'but we'll take your friend in for you.' 'No, you
won't,' I said. 'Why not?' said they. 'Because you're no account
Johnnies,' I said, 'while my wounded friend and I are high-toned Yanks.'
'I beg your pardon,' said the Johnny, who was one of the most polite
fellows I ever saw, 'I didn't see your uniform clearly by this dim light,
but the parties looking for the wounded are mostly going in, and you're
likely to be left here with your friend, who needs attention.
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