“That was very remarkable,” added Lieutenant Somers, who could not see, for the life of him, how a cannon-ball could hit the handle of the sword without injuring the hand which grasped it.
“It was very remarkable, indeed; but I was reminded of the circumstance by the remembrance that you were hit in the head by a bullet, which did not kill you. I shouldn’t have mentioned the affair if I hadn’t called to mind my own experience; for life yourself, Somers, I am a modest man; in fact, every brave man is necessarily a modest man.”
“Were you ever wounded, Captain de Banyan?”
“Bless you, half a dozen times. At Magenta, the same bullet passed twice through my body.”
“The same bullet?”
“Yes, sir—the same bullet. I’ll tell you how it happened. I was in the heavy artillery there. The bullet of the Russian—”
“The Russian! Why, I thought the battle of Magenta was fought between the Austrians and the French.”
“You are right, my boy. The bullet of the Austrian, I should have said, passed through my left lung, struck the cannon behind me, bounded back, and hitting me again, passed through my right lung. When it came out, it hit my musket, and dropped upon the ground. I picked it up, and have it at home now.”
“Whew!” added Lieutenant Somers in a low whisper. “It’s quite warm to-day,” he continued, trying to turn off the remark.
“Very warm, indeed.”