On a cheerful note: something I found in an actual paper-and-leather "book" today.
They had it hard back then. People were tough.
"At the glorious battle of Quebec Serjeant Macleod, amongst the foremost of the grenadiers and Highlanders, who drove the shaking line of the enemy from post to post, and compleated their defeat, had his shinbone shattered by grape shot, while a musket ball went through his arm. He was assisted to retire behind the British line; and in doing this was informed of the multiplied wounds that threatended the immediate dissolution of his admired and beloved General [i.e., Wolfe]. It was, under this weight of actual suffering, ad [sic] sympathetic sorrow, some consolation tho the good old Serjeant, (for by this time he was seventy years of age,) that the tender which he made of his plaid, for the purpose of carrying the dying General to some convenient place off the field of action, was accepted."
They had it hard back then. People were tough.
