There is a man now living in East Dixfield, Oxford county, me, who
actually caught in his mouth a ball discharged from a musket. He was at
the battle of Bridgewater, in the war of 1812, and, while biting off the
end of a cartridge, for the purpose of loading his gun, was struck by a
ball, which entered on the left side of his face, knocking out eight of
his teeth, cut off the end of his tongue, and passed into his throat. He
raised it, went to the hospital, staid out the remainder of his
enlistment, and returned home with the bullet in his pocket.
The New Orleans Picayune, one of whose editors was an eye-witness of the
most of the leading battles in Mexico, copies the foregoing paragraph,
and appends to it the following relation:
We can relate an incident even more strange than this. At the siege of
Monterey, in 1846, and, while General Worth's troops were advancing to
storm the small fort, known as La Soldada, a man, named Waters, an
excellent soldier, belonging to Ben McCulloch's Rangers, caught a large
grape-shot directly in his mouth. It was fully the size of a hen's egg,
was rough, uneven in shape, and, in its course, completely carried out
the four upper teeth of the ranger, and part of the jaw, cut off the
four lower teeth, as with a chisel, split his tongue in twain, carried
away his palate, went through the back of his head, and, striking a
tendon, glanced down, 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
manner, said the man, still shaking our hand vigorously. "I'm Waters."
And Waters it was, in reality, looking as well and as healthy as ever,
without showing the least outward sign that he had ever caught a
grape-shot in his mouth. A luxuriant growth of mustaches completely
covered his upper lip, and concealed any scar the iron missile might
have made; an imperial on his under lip hid any appearance of a wound at
that point; and, with the exception of his speech, there was nothing to
show that he had ever received the slightest injury about the face. His
tongue, which was terribly shattered, was still partially benumbed,
rendering articulation both difficult and tiresome; but he assured us he
was every day gaining more and more the use of it, and, in his own
words, he was soon to be "just as good as new"
It is needless to say that we were glad to see him--to meet one we had
never expected to encounter again in such excellent plight. Any one who
could have seen him sitting in that apartment of the Bishop's Palace,
his face swollen, and, with a gravity of countenance, which would have
been ludicrous, even to the causing of laughter, had it not been for his
own precarious situation, and the heart-rending scenes around, would
have been equally as much astonished and rejoiced, as we were, on again
so unexpectedly beholding him.
A correspondent of the "Inquirer" has sent us the following, which is
quite as remarkable as either of the foregoing:
Very extraordinary incidents have been published lately, of shot having
been caught in the mouths of soldiers, in the course of battle, in the
war of 1812, and in the Mexican war; but an incident, perhaps more
remarkable, for the coolness of the individual on the occasion, occurred
at the battle of Fort Drane, fought, in August, 1837, under the command
of the late Col. B.K. Pierce. This was one of the most signal and
desperate engagements of that bloody war. The Seminoles, under their
renowned chief, Osceola, had taken a very commanding position in an
extensive sugar field, near the stockade, strengthened on the east side
by a dense hammock. Three desperate onsets were made during the battle,
and the enemy were finally driven from the field to the protection of
the hammock. During the hottest of the battle, a soldier belonging to
the detachment under the command of Lieut. Pickell, whose position was a
little in advance of the two wings, of the name of Jackson, having just
fired, received a shot from a tall Indian, not twenty yards distant,
which broke through the outer parts of his pantaloons, and lodged in his
right-hand pocket. Feeling the slight sting of the half-spent ball, he
thrust his hand in his pocket, drew out the bullet, and dropped it into
the barrel of his musket, upon the charge of powder he had just before
put in; then, with the unerring aim of a true marksman, leveled his
piece, and, as quick as lightning, his adversary was measured upon the
ground. The wound was fatal--the warrior survived the shot but a
few minutes.
The above is one of the many incidents that occurred in the recent war
with the Florida Indians which, for peril and brave feats, on the part
of the American soldiers and officers, has scarcely ever been equaled.
The above incident is stated as it actually occurred.