Suddenly a shot struck him; he reeled backwards a few feet, strove
to steady himself and to level his pike, and then all consciousness
left him, and he fell prostrate. Again and again, as the fortune
of the desperate fray wavered one way or the other, did friend and
foe pass over the place where he lay.
So thickly strewn was the field with dead that the combatants in
their desperate struggle had long ceased to pick their way over
the fallen, but trampled ruthlessly upon and over them as, hoarsely
shouting their battle cry, they either pressed forward after the
slowly retreating foe or with obstinate bravery strove to resist
the charges of the enemy. When Malcolm recovered his consciousness
all was still, save that here and there a faint moan was heard from
others who like himself lay wounded on the battlefield. The night
was intensely dark, and Malcolm's first sensation was that of bitter
cold.
It was indeed freezing severely, and great numbers of the wounded
who might otherwise have survived were frozen to death before morning;
but a few, and among these were Malcolm, were saved by the frost.
Although unconscious of the fact, he had been wounded in two places.
The first ball had penetrated his breastpiece and had entered his
body, and a few seconds later another ball had struck him in the
arm. It was the first wound which had caused his insensibility;
but from the second, which had severed one of the principal veins
in the arm, he would have bled to death had it not been for the
effects of the cold.
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