The surgeon in charge--Major
Tyrell--told me that the poor fellows quivered at every shot as if in
anticipation of a blow. A bullet in the leg will made a brave man a
coward. A blow on the head will make a wise man a fool. Indeed I have
read that a sufficiency of absinthe can make a good man a knave. The
triumph of mind over matter does not seem to be quite complete as yet.
I saw a strange thing happen, while the firing was going on, which may
amuse those who take an interest in the habits and development of
animals. Just in front of my tent, which was open, was a clear space,
occupied by a flock of goats and sheep. The brilliant moonlight made
everything plainly visible. Every time a bullet whistled over them or
struck the ground near, they ducked and bobbed in evident terror. An
officer, who also noticed this, told me it was the first time they had
been under fire; and I have been wondering ever since, whether this
explains their fear, or makes it more inexplicable.
I have devoted a good deal in this chapter to the account of the
"sniping" at Jar on the night of the 9th of October, and, perhaps, a
critic may inquire, why so much should be written about so common an
incident.
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