eath the walls, and some minor
details were only necessary to complete the preparations. The stormers
consisted of four British and three German regiments,--my own, the Welsh
Fusiliers, being one of the former. We occupied the lines stretching
from L'Herault to Damies."

The French officer nodded assent, and Bubbleton resumed.

"The Fusiliers were on the right, and divided into two parties,--an
assaulting column and a supporting one; the advanced companies at half
cannon-shot from the walls, the others a little farther off. Thus we
were, when, about half-past ten, or it might be even eleven o'clock (we
were drinking some mulled claret in my quarters), a low, swooping
kind of a noise came stealing along the ground. We listened,--it grew
stronger and stronger; and then we could hear musket-shot and shouting,
and the tramp of men as if running. Out we went; and, by Jove! there
we saw the first battalion in full retreat towards the camp. It was a
sortie in force from the garrison, which drove in our advanced posts,
and took several prisoners. The drums now soon beat to quarters; the
men fell in rapidly, and we advanced to meet them,--no pleasant affair,
either, let me remark, for the night was pitch dark, and we could not
even guess the strength of your force. It was just then that I was
running with all my speed to come up with the flank companies, that my
cover-sergeant, a cool, old Scotch fellow, shouted out,--

"'Take care, sir! Stoop there, sir! stoop there!'

"But the advice came too late. I could just discern through the gloom
something black, hopping and bounding along towards me; now striking the
ground, and then rebounding again several feet in the air.

"'Stoop, sir! down!' cried he.

"But before I could throw myself flat, plump it took me here. Over I
went, breathless, and deeming all was finished; but, miraculous to say,
in a few minutes after I found myself coming to, and except the shock,
nothing the worse for the injury.

"'Was that a shell, Sergeant?' said I; 'a spent shell?'

"'Na, sir,' said he, in his own broad way, 'it was naething o' the kind;
it was only Lieutenant Stopford's head that was snapped aff up there.'"

"His head!" exclaimed we all of a breath,--"his head!"

"Yes, poor fellow, so it was; a damned hard kind of a bullet-head, too!
The blow has left a weakness of the stomach I suppose I shall never
recover from; and the occurrence being so singular, I have actually
never asked for a