The gray, despairing weariness of
protracted maneuvers and combat did
not touch him. The first time he
saw the enemy was at eight o'clock
one spring morning, and at eight-thirty
he was hit in the right leg by a
heavy slug that mashed and splintered
the bones beyond repair. Even then
he was lucky, for the rebels retreated
and the field surgeons moved up
immediately. Cyrus Trask did have his
five minutes of horror while they cut
the shreds away and sawed the bone
off square and burned the open flesh.