One—an old soldier, who had escaped without a wound the dangers of eight engagements—found an old rusty bomb lying by the wayside, and chancing heedlessly to poke the fuse-hole with his bayonet, it exploded, and blew his head and right arm completely off. The fate of the other soldier was still more remarkable, and afforded those who were near him, some cause for reflection.
He was one of the light infantry battalion, and had frequently misconducted himself. He was uttering fearful oaths in the ranks as we advanced, until he received a personal rebuke from the General, who said,—
"Silence, sirrah! a forlorn hope will soon be required, and I expect that you will be among the first to volunteer, to make amends for your present misconduct."
"A forlorn hope; and who the devil is to lead us?" asked the soldier, insolently.
"I shall," replied the general, haughtily; "do you imagine, fellow, that I will order my men on any duty that I personally shrink from?"
"I'll not volunteer, general; I am not such a d——d fool! I set some value on my life; and being doubtful about another world, wish to remain in this one as long as I can."
"Silence, I command you; or you shall be sent as a prisoner to the rear!"
On this, the man, as if possessed by the devil, broke out into a torrent of imprecations, and concluded by wishing "that God might strike him dead" for his folly in becoming a soldier.
The fatal words had scarcely left his lips, when a musket-ball that came from where we knew not—for we were marching through an open and level savannah—struck him full on the forehead, and he fell flat on his face a dead man!
We marched on, some in silence, but many more engaged in surmises; for this startling event, which seemed like the judgment of Heaven upon a blasphemer, produced a painful sensation, even among the heedless fellows who witnessed it.