I met a man belonging to C Company of the Gordons who was bleeding very
much. He shouted to me, “For God’s sake take me out of action.” I put
him on a stretcher with the help of another bearer. We lifted him up,
and just then a shell broke a tree in half close by. The trunk fell
right across the man’s head, killing him at once. It was getting dusk
and we could not find out where our company was, as they had retired
fighting. I walked about the woods very quietly at night with three
others and then heard some English voices. We looked ahead and saw a
battery of artillery in a lane in front of us. They said they were
ambushed between two lines of fire, and shouted, “Come, get a gun, and
take pot luck with us.” We started, although twenty-four of the first
team’s horses were shot, the middle driver was dead, and the one on the
second leading horse was wounded in the head. We all decided to make
a dash for it in the morning. We did so over dead horses and men and
found our regiment at 3 A.M. In the meantime we had got some corn from
the fields, but for three days we had nothing to eat and drink but
apples, dirty water, and red wine: _Bandsman T. Winstanley_.