We had advanced some way into France, when one evening we were walking together, and talking of the possibility of our soon seeing home, as we had now some reason to expect peace.
‘I hope,’ said he, ‘that I will live to return to my poor mother; but if it should be my fate to fall, and yours to survive, there is one request I have to make.’
‘What is that?’ said I.
‘That you will send home this Bible to my mother; I have fastened a lock of my hair at a place she will remember, and think with pity and forgiveness of me when I am no more.’
‘Don’t let such melancholy reflections get the better of you,’ said I; ‘still hope for the best. I trust we shall both see our native land again, but should there be any necessity for it, and I survive, I will faithfully perform what you wish.’
A few days after, the battle of Orthes was fought. At night when the companies were mustered, poor William was missing: he had been detached with the sharp-shooters in the morning, to cover the advance of the column, and had been killed by a grape shot in the early part of the day. We were far past the place where he had fallen, and I could not return even had there been any chance of finding him among the numbers of dead and wounded that strewed the field. But he had given his Bible in charge to an officer’s servant, with whom he was acquainted, to place among his master’s baggage, as a place of greater security, from whom I received it, previous to our embarkation at Pauilhac, for Ireland. Between the Old and New Testaments, on the blank page, was fastened a lock of his hair, so disposed as to encircle the following passages, which were copied in a small hand, with the chapter and verse of each annexed:—
‘Refrain thy voice from weeping, and thine eyes from tears, for there is hope in thine end, saith the Lord, that thy children shall come again unto their own border.’
‘Fear not, thy Maker is thine husband.’
‘Commit thy fatherless children to my care.’
‘Call upon me in the day of trouble, I will deliver thee, and thou shalt glorify me.’