He
was about the same height and build as myself, with roughly similar
features. Poor beggar. The only name I ever heard him called was Jack.
He was one of the younger lads, and shivering so dreadfully on the
morning of the Battle ---from cold and fear alike---that I gave him my
coat, his being tattered, and far too light to serve. It's hard to
believe to look at me now, wrapped up as for a winter storm, and
pacing like an animal just to warm myself. But I was never cold in
those days, as you'll recall." He gave a bitter laugh, then shook his
head, as if to drive away the feeling.
"Looking back, I guess I was luckier than some. A ball grazed my head
very early in the fighting, and I knew nothing more, until I found
myself being dragged away by two English infantry..... What is it,
Mary? What have I said to upset you?"
"They dragged you to a grove of dark trees! You were dazed and pale,
but still they pulled at you fiercely, as if to throw you to the
ground and run you through."
"How on earth did you know that?"
"I saw it in my dream! I thought I was witnessing your death.
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