weariness I had never given a thought to my friend since the time that
he had rushed at the French Guards with the whole regiment at his heels.

"I am going out now to take a tally of our losses," said the Major;
"and if you cared to come with me, I should be very glad to have you."

So off we set, the Major, the two sergeants, and I; and oh! but it was a
dreadful, dreadful sight!--so much so, that even now, after so many
years, I had rather say as little of it as possible. It was bad to see
in the heat of fight; but now in the cold morning, with no cheer or
drum-tap or bugle blare, all the glory had gone out of it, and it was
just one huge butcher's shop, where poor devils had been ripped and
burst and smashed, as though we had tried to make a mock of God's image.
There on the ground one could read every stage of yesterday's fight--the
dead footmen that lay in squares and the fringe of dead horsemen that
had charged them, and above on the slope the dead gunners, who lay round
their broken piece. The Guards' column had left a streak right up the
field like the trail of a snail, and at the head of it the blue coats
were lying heaped upon the red ones where that fierce tug had been
before they took their backward step.

And the very first thing that I saw when I got there was Jim himself.
He was lying on the broad of his back, his face turned up towards the
sky, and all the passion and the trouble seemed to have passed clean
away from him, so that he looked just like the old Jim as I had seen him
in his cot a hundred times when we were schoolmates together. I had
given a cry of grief at the sight of him; but when I came to look upon
his face, and to see how much happier he looked in death than I could
ever have hoped to see him in life, it was hard to mourn for him.
Two French bayonets had passed through his chest, and he had died in an