Some of the blood, which continued to flow fast from my wound, having dropped upon his face, roused him a little--but only to increase his lamentation for his own destiny, which he believed was fast accomplishing.
"Through the skull--clean through the skull--and preserving my senses to the last! Mr.Lorrequer, stoop down--it is a dying man asks you--don't refuse me a last request.

There's neither luck nor grace, honor nor glory in such a way of fighting--so just promise me you'll shoot that grinning baboon there, when he's going off the ground, since it's the fashion to fire at a man with his back to you.

Bring him down, and I'll die easy." And with these words he closed his eyes, and straightened out his legs -- stretched his arm at either side, and arranged himself as much corpse fashion as the circumstances of the ground would permit--while I now freely participated in the mirth of the others, which, loud and boisterous as it was, never reached the ears of O'Leary.
My arm had now become so painful, that I was obliged to ask Trevanion to assist me in getting off my coat.

The surprise of the Frenchmen on learning that I was wounded was very considerable--O'Leary's catastrophe having exclusively engaged all attention.

My arm was now examined, when it was discovered that the ball had passed through from one side to the other, without apparently touching the bone; the bullet and the portion of my coat carried in by it both lay in my sleeve.