wn, and lodged under the skin on the shoulder-blade,
where it was extracted by a surgeon, and safely placed in the pocket of
Waters for future reference.

No man thought the wounded ranger could live, he could swallow neither
food nor water. We saw him two nights afterward, in a room in the
Bishop's Palace, which had been converted into a hospital, sitting bolt
upright among the wounded and the dying--for the nature of his terrible
hurt was such that he could not lie down without suffocating. His face
was swollen to more than twice its ordinary size--he was speechless of
course--his wants were only made known by means of a broken slate and
pencil, and he was slowly applying a wet sponge to his mouth,
endeavoring to extract moisture, which might quench the fever and
intolerable thirst under which he was suffering. By his side lay young
Thomas, of Maryland, a member of the same company, who was mortally
wounded the morning after, and who was now dying. Wounded men, struck
that afternoon in Worth's advance upon the Grand Plaza, were constantly
being brought in, the surgeons were amputating and dressing the hurts of
the crippled soldiers by a pale and sickly candle-light, and the groans
of those in grievous pain added a new horror to the scene, which was at
best frightful. We recollect, perfectly well, a poor fellow struck in
both legs by a grape-shot, while advancing up one of the streets. He was
begging lustily, after one of his limbs had been amputated, that the
other might be spared him, on which to hobble through the world. Poor
Thomas, as gallant a spirit as ever lived, finally breathed his last; we
brought Waters a fresh cup of water with which to moisten his wounds,
and then left the room to catch an hour's sleep; but the recollections
of that terrible night will not soon be effaced from my memory.

The above incident occurred on the night of the 23d and morning of the
24th of September, 1846. During the early part of the month of February
following, while passing into the old St. Charles, in this city, we were
accosted with a strange voice by a fine-looking man, who seemed
extremely glad to see us, although he had a most singular and
unaccountable mode of expressing himself. We recollected the eye as one
we had been familiar with, but the lower features of the face, although
in no way disfigured, for the life of us, we could not make out.

"Why, don't you know me?" in a mumbling, half-indistinct, and forced
manne