The affair happened thus:—About half-way up the hill they found a live shell, and for amusement, as they said, rolled it about the ravine. In doing this some of the powder escaped, of which one of the party made a devil: this he placed on a stone. In the meantime the shell had rolled some distance, leaving in its course a train of powder. Not perceiving this, he set the devil on fire; it communicated with the train, and ignited the shell.
“How imprudent those foolish sailors are!” said General Dacres; “they are all alike.”
As no doctor made his appearance, the general observed the best plan would be to convey the wounded man on board the Gladiator steam-frigate: she was the first foreign ship of war that had entered the harbour. On our way we met two doctors who had been visiting the ruins. They examined the sailor’s wound, and having attended to it, followed him to the Gladiator’s boat, which was waiting at the floating bridge from the Karabelnaia to the French side. I saw him on board, and the surgeon of the ship, Dr. Thompson, immediately amputated his leg. The other two went their way, one of them patched up in four places, but able to walk. I afterwards heard from the doctor that his patient was doing well, and that he was a deserter, for which he would be punished. “A double gratification, doctor,” said I: “that’s what a sailor calls a day’s spree.”
The most remarkable part of the affair was the escape of the man who had set the shell a-going; he was not even scratched. The reason of this he explained thus:—“When I had set the devil on fire, to my surprise I saw the flame running towards the shell; I expected it would explode, and threw myself flat upon my face. My eyes! wasn’t it a rum ‘un!—it gave me such a blow on the pate—the report, I mean—I can hardly hear now.”
That man was not four feet from the shell when it exploded. I consider that we had a most miraculous escape, as our brave cockney observed, looking as pale as though, he hadn’t a drop of blood left, though generally possessing a regular rubicund face, the vermilion colour of which nothing but a good coat of whitewash could have affected. He was, in fact, quite stupified, and asked me if it was likely that another would burst. “Very likely,” said I, “if anybody sets it on fire.”
“You in particular, my young fellow,” said I, “have had a narrow escape. If I had not called you back, you would have been blown to atoms, as a large branch was sent clean off a poplar tree near which you were standing.”
The wooden fusee, a piece of the other fellow’s trousers, and a regular fright, were some of the trophies I gathered of this sad event.
On our way home, our Snow-hill friend, who could not get rid of the bomb-shell feeling, and felt rather shaky, related the following clever move on the part of himself and Mr. Mesnil. It occurred a few days before in one of the ravines, and he almost trembled in relating the anecdote.
“Ah,” said he, “you blame those poor fellows for setting fire to that shell. I’ll tell you what Mr. Mesnil and myself did the other day. As we were walking, we found a live shell, and being anxious to ascertain whether it contained those bundles of fused nails we had been shown by Joseph at Stuart’s canteen in the morning, we actually took up a sixty-four pound shot which was at hand, and pounded the shell four or five times, in order to split it, that we might inspect the contents. This did not succeed, so at length we gave it up in despair.”
“Never!” exclaimed I.