And dizzy 'tis to cast one's eyes so low!
. . . . . . I'll look no more
Lest my brain turn."—Shakespeare.
The white chalk was a bulwark between us and the foe; and though one or two of them loosed off their matchlocks, trying to get at us sideways, they could not even see their quarry, and 'twas only shooting at a venture. We were safe. But for how short a time! Safe just for so long as it should please the soldiers not to come down to take us, safe with a discharged pistol in our grasp, and a shot man lying at our feet.
Elzevir was the first to speak: "Can you stand, John? Is the bone broken?"
"I cannot stand," I said; "there is something gone in my leg, and I feel blood running down into my boot."
He knelt, and rolled down the leg of my stocking; but though he only moved my foot ever so little, it caused me sharp pain, for feeling was coming back after the first numbness of the shot.
"They have broke the leg, though it bleeds little," Elzevir said. "We have no time to splice it here, but
