Harry sprang down, and abandoning his horse, which he never saw again, knelt beside his general.

Wilbourn with a penknife was cutting the sleeve from the shattered arm.
The whole battle passed away for Harry.

Death was in his heart at that moment.

When he looked at the white, drawn face of Jackson and his shattered arm, he had no hope then, nor did he ever have any afterwards, save for a few moments.

The paladin of the Confederacy was gone, shot down in the dark by his own men.
General Hill, who also had been in great danger from the bullets of the North Carolinians, galloped up, sprang from his horse and helped to bind up the shattered arm.
"Are you much hurt, General ?" he asked, his face distorted with grief and alarm.
"I fear so," was the reply, in a weak voice, "and I have suffered all my wounds from my own men.