Monday, August 29, 2011


I could barely see the enemy in front of me through the smoke and cannon fire. my friend Jamie dropped in the first barrage. I was wounded lightly by a stray ball as it grazed my arm. the acrid stench of battle was almost overpowering. the dead and dying moaned on the field almost sounding as banshees claiming the souls of the departing.

the call to charge was given and I led my men. over the uneven terrain we ran. approaching the English line. and then I heard the roar and men dropped around me and I felt a searing pain in my side.

targe out and sword raised I attacked the line and just barely caught the motion to my right. a bayonet? I dropped my elbow down quickly sending the bayonet lower only to have it pierce my side. I reeled and fell. all I could do was survey the scene after I fell. it all moved so slowly. the English ranks were unwavering. and my friends perished to shot and bayonet.

quiet. well quiet in comparison to the battle. I lay and listened wondering how many had died. hearing the occasional moan or scream.

he stood above me with musket in hand. I saw the bayonet poised above me and then it fell. I could feel it pierce my breast and then all began to fade. life's blood spilling upon the ground and a blackness until I again saw a light.

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