His uncle led him off the field and sent him home to his mother. A
countryman, who had nothing but an oak stick to fight with, seized
me as I lay on the ground, and here I met with the first
mortification of my life--he actually used me to dig with. This was
a contemptible feeling in me, and I have since learned to be ashamed
of it, and to know that all labor is equally honorable, if it is for
a good end. They had not tools enough for making entrenchments, and
they actually used the bayonet, of which I had been proud, for this
purpose. In the confusion after the battle, I was forgotten. I was
left at the bottom of the works in the mud.
It was a hard thing for me to be parted from William, and to feel
that I should never be restored to my corner in his mother's room
behind the old clock; but I had a conviction that I had taken part
in a great work, and I enjoyed our triumphs greatly.
This, you will think, no doubt, was glory enough for one musket; but
a greater still was in reserve for me. It is with muskets as with
men, one opportunity improved opens the way for another, and every
chance missed is a loss past calculation; for every gain that might
have grown out of that chance is lost too.
Every one should remember that, as he fights his way through the
battle of life; and, when tempted to slacken his fire, think of what
the old revolutionary spirit, speaking through my muzzle, taught on
that day,--'hold on, and hold fast, and hold out.
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