LEFT WOUNDED ON THE FIELD
yonder to the left. I determined to creep down there anyway, for I must have water; my lips and throat were so dry I could not swallow. I made the endeavor on hands and knees, keeping well aloof from the numerous bodies, and crouching low as possible to escape the observation of any sentry near at hand. Thus I finally arrived at the edge of the hank, where the descent was steep, and slid silently down. Once beside the narrow stream I dipped my face in the running water, and drank greedily.
The cooling draught yielded me renewed life, and energy. Nothing about stirred; there was no sound excepting the murmur of the shallow stream at my feet, and the faint stir of leaves overhead. I tore aside the rough woollen artillery shirt I wore and attempted to explore the wound in my side: it was a jagged, ugly gash, evidently torn by a splinter, but not dangerously deep, although it had bled profusely. I washed it out as best I might with the cold water, gritting my teeth to the sharp pain, and finally fastening a silk handkerchief over the wound to prevent chafing. Some object moved along the opposite hank, a short distance down stream, and I crouched lower within the shadow, watching intently. But I saw nothing to alarm me further, even the slight sound of movement dying away. Suddenly I seemed to recall to memory the vague glimpse of a distant house far down the valley, half revealed as our battery dashed forward into position. Assuredly I had actually seen this; it was no dream. There would undoubtedly he found opportunity for concealment among the out-buildings, provided I could attain to their shelter before daybreak;
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