Lamar Fontaine describes his sensations when he was about to be buried
alive after being desperately wounded on the battle-field:
Some time in the night I heard the approach of voices and the
tramp of men. Soon I heard the sound of picks and spades and
caught the gleam of lanterns, and knew a burial-party was on
the field, and that surgeons, with their attendants, had come
to pick up and care for the wounded. Again and again I tried
to speak, but no sound came. Presently I felt the jar of the
picks and spades as they dug a grave by my side, and then I felt
a strong hand grasp my head and another my feet, and lift me
clear of the ground. There was a sharp click, and then a loud
buzzing sound in my ears, and my whole body was in an agony of
pain. A fearful thirst tortured me. I spoke, and my friends let
me drop suddenly to the ground. The jar awoke every faculty to
life. I asked for water, and at once a strong light was flashed
in my face, a rubber canteen applied to my lips, and I felt
a life-giving stream of cold, refreshing water flow down my
swollen throat, and seemingly into every part of my frame.--“My
Life and My Lectures.”
(2758)