A sergeant of ours was lying on his breast, and had scarcely taken his fusee from the level, when a ball passed in at the centre of his forehead. He instantly rolled on his back, groaned heavily, and kicked out his legs, covering the spot with a liquid stream of blood. Sir James Kempt, ever first in the fight and last out of it, having taken his station at a house within musket-range, had now ordered a bugler to sound the "retire," after two hours' fighting; and it was quite time, for all the companies engaged had sustained a sad loss in killed and hors de combat.
Now came the difficulty—and how to get away without being seen. Fortunately we found a pathway shrouded by small trees, which we passed by single files, without uttering a word. On clearing it, to say that we did not feel glad would be a piece of unnecessary affectation. The men were covered with mud and sweat, and their faces and hands blackened by the biting of cartridges; and scarcely a round of ammunition remained in the pouches. The sergeant, who had been rather dragged than carried out of the wood, was lying on his back and still alive, with his eyes closed, perfectly black, and swelled up as large as a couple of cricket balls; he was frothing at the mouth, and presenting a horrible sight. The balls were again whizzing past our ears, and while spreading the blanket out of his knapsack over his trembling and agitated body, one of the soldiers said "He cannot live long," when, strange to relate, he raised his arm and waved a pocket handkerchief crimsoned with gore which he held in his hand!
An officer full of ardor came forward from the regiment to cover some of the skirmishers on the left; but he was soon shot through the leg, and the sergeant major into the bargain. The latter was a fine comely handsome man of about fourteen stone weight, who was now mounted on a soldier's back with his sword drawn, swearing all the oaths he could muster; and the sight was so ludicrous, that we were all convulsed with laughter, to see the two heroes, who had come quite fresh to cover our retreat, carried off the field in so droll a manner,—while now and then a stray bullet whistled through the air, by way of a hint that it was no joke.
Our line of picquets was now advanced; which, I am quite confident, might have been accomplished without a shot being fired. In the evening we returned to the village of Arbonne with keen appetites, and heartily glad to wash the dirt and mire from off our hands and faces.
[9] A musket-ball perforated the biscuit, which caused the bullet, after passing under the fleshy part of the breast, and round the ribs, to glance off and pierce quite through the thick part of the left arm.
[10] General Graham having gone to Holland, to take the command of a separate British force in that country.
[11] This man, made use of similar expressions, while storming the forts on the 10th of November.
[12] This is the officer who repeated the tragic lines in Macbeth, while dancing round the fire the night before the battle of the Nivelle, thirteen days before.
[13] He was made prisoner while travelling through France on his way to Verdun, his carriage was surrounded by a party of Cossacks, who were going to pike him, when he luckily made himself understood; then being conducted to the allied army, he was most kindly treated and instantly liberated.