h in the rear of the regiment, with the
ambulance corps, felt his heart beat so wildly at the first whiz of a
bullet over his head, that he was afraid he was going to be afraid.

Was Jack Winch another of the sort? It was pitiful to see him attempt to
load his piece. He never knew how it happened, but, instead of a
cartridge, he got hold of the tompion,--called by the boys the
"tompin,"--used to stop the muzzle of the gun and protect it from
moisture, and was actually proceeding to ram it down the barrel before he
discovered his mistake!

"Take a cartridge, Winch!" said Captain Edney, who was coolly noting the
conduct of his men.

So Jack, throwing away the stopper, took a cartridge. But his hand shook
_around_ the muzzle of the gun so that it was some time before he could
insert the charge. He had already dodged behind a tree, the men being
allowed to shelter themselves when they could.

"Dry ground is scarce as hen's teeth!" remarked Seth Tucket, droll as
ever, looking for a good place to stand while he was loading.

"Fun, ain't it?" said Ned Ellis, who had sought cover by the same tree
with Winch.

He stood at Jack's left hand, and a little behind him. Jack, too much
agitated to respond to the unseasonable jest, threw up the barrel of his
piece, in order to prime, when a bullet came, from nobody knew where,
aslant, and put an end to jesting for the present.

Jack felt a benumbing shock, and dropped his gun, the stock of which had
been shivered in his grasp. At the same instant Ellis dropped his gun
also, and threw out his hands wildly, exclaiming,--

"I am shot!"

And both fell to the ground together.

"That's what ye call two birds with one stun!" said Tucket, a flash of
ferocity kindling his face as he saw his comrades fall. "Pay 'em for
that, boys! Pay 'em for that!"

And hearing the order to charge the thicket, he went forward with a yell,
taking strides that would have done credit to a moose in his own native
woods of Maine.

Ellis had by this time got upon his feet again. But Jack lay still, his
neck bathed in blood.

XXVIII.

JACK WINCH'S CATASTROPHE.

Several companies were by this time engaged driving in the rebel
skirmishers, and three or four men had been disabled.

It was impracticable to take the stretchers, or litters for the wounded,
into such a wilderness of bogs and thickets; and accordingly the most
forward and courageou