'
"As he levelled at me, I fell back, and the ball passed right over me
and struck a wounded orse that was broke down behind, and a sittin' up
on his fore-legs like a dog. Oh, the scream of that are hanimal, Sir,
was just like a Christian's. It was hawful. I have the sound of it in
my ears now halmost. It pierced through me, and you might have eard it
that still morning over the whole field. He sprung up and then fell
over, and kicked and struggled furious for a minute or two before he
died, and every time he lashed out, you could a eard a elpless wounded
wretch a groanin' bitterly, as he battered away at him. The truth is,
Sir, what I took for a wolf that hazy morning, was poor Pat, who was
sitting up, and trying to bandage his hankle, that was shattered by a
bullet, and the way he bobbed his head up and down, as he stooped
forward, looked exactly as a wolf does when he is tearing the flesh
off a dead body.
"Well, the scream of that are orse, and the two shots the dragoon and
I exchanged, saved my life, for I saw a man and a woman making right
straight for us. It was Betty, Sir, God bless her, and Sergeant
M'Clure. The owling she sot up, when she saw me, was dreadful to ear,
Sir.
"'Betty,' said I, 'dear, for eaven's sake see if you can find a drop
of brandy in any of these poor fellows' canteens, for I am perishing
of thirst, and amost chilled to death.
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