On one occasion, when Dennis and I were on duty in the trench, and at one of the batteries with some others, at the formation of an embrasure, we had nearly completed it, but it still required opening and facing off towards the enemy; this was a very hazardous business, as we were sure of a volley of cannon shot, the moment we mounted the parapet. ‘Come, my brave fellows,’ said the superintending engineer officer, ‘which of you will volunteer to go outside, and form the embrasure?’ Dennis and I were standing close by him, and jumped upon the top of the breastwork. We were followed by two more, but had scarcely appeared, when a cannon shot striking the parapet close where I stood, covered me with earth. ‘Never mind,’ said Dennis, ‘to miss is as good as a mile,’ He scarcely had finished, when he was served in the same manner—no way dispirited, he exclaimed, ‘Time about is fair play.’ One of the lads who worked with us began to show symptoms of fear. ‘Don’t be afraid,’ said Dennis, ‘you’ll never die till your time come.’ His eloquence did not seem to take effect. ‘Go into the trench,’ said Dennis, ‘we will do without you.’ The lad was in the act of doing so, when a shot struck him, and he fell mortally wounded. Soon after, our dinners having come down, we were relieved by others and called in. The mess I belonged to had sat down round the camp kettle, and were beginning to help themselves, when the cry ‘shell!’ was given; all were to their feet in an instant, for we found by the noise that it was coming in our direction. The others endeavoured to make their escape; whether from a belief in Dennis’s doctrine of predestination, I cannot at present recollect, but instead of running from it, I threw myself down flat in the embrasure. I had scarcely done so, when the shell fell within two yards of me. ‘Now,’ thought I, ‘there is no chance of escape,’ and during the few seconds of suspense, while the last part of the fusee was whizzing in my ear, reflections which would have occupied an hour at another time, on home, parents, death, and my future fate, whirled through my mind, like a wild and giddy dream. The shell burst, and for a few moments I was bereaved of recollection. Coming to myself, I scrambled out from amongst the stuff with which I was covered. ‘Are you kilt?’ asked Dennis, running up to me with an expression of real concern: looking to myself to see whether I was wounded, I replied, ‘No;’ but I had been well frightened. ‘That’s right, my boy,’ said he, ‘I don’t believe the shot’s made that will kill any of us. Many’s the long yarn about this business I’ll be after telling to the ould women of Ireland yet.’