The New Orleans Picayune, one of whose editors was an eye-witness of the most of the leading battles in Mexico, copies the foregoing paragraph, and appends to it the following relation: 

We can relate an incident even more strange than this.  At the siege of Monterey, in 1846, and, while General Worth’s troops were advancing to storm the small fort, known as La Soldada, a man, named Waters, an excellent soldier, belonging to Ben McCulloch’s Rangers, caught a large grape-shot directly in his mouth.  It was fully the size of a hen’s egg, was rough, uneven in shape, and, in its course, completely carried out the four upper teeth of the ranger, and part of the jaw, cut off the four lower teeth, as with a chisel, split his tongue in twain, carried away his palate, went through the back of his head, and, striking a tendon, glanced down, and lodged under the skin on the shoulder-blade, where it was extracted by a surgeon, and safely placed in the pocket of Waters for future reference.

No man thought the wounded ranger could live, he could swallow neither food nor water.  We saw him two nights afterward, in a room in the Bishop’s Palace, which had been converted into a hospital, sitting bolt upright among the wounded and the dying—­for the nature of his terrible hurt was such that he could not lie down without suffocating.  His face was swollen to more than twice its ordinary size—­he was speechless of course—­his wants were only made known by means of a broken slate and pencil, and he was slowly applying a wet sponge to his mouth, endeavoring to extract moisture, which might quench the fever and intolerable thirst under which he was suffering.  By his side lay young Thomas, of Maryland, a member of the same company, who was mortally wounded the morning after, and who was now dying.  Wounded men, struck that afternoon in Worth’s advance upon the Grand Plaza, were constantly being brought in, the surgeons were amputating and dressing the hurts of the crippled soldiers by a pale and sickly candle-light, and the groans of those in grievous pain added a new horror to the scene, which was at best frightful.  We recollect, perfectly well, a poor fellow struck in both legs by a grape-shot, while advancing up one of the streets.  He was begging lustily, after one of his limbs had been amputated, that the other might be spared him, on which to hobble through the world.  Poor Thomas, as gallant a spirit as ever lived, finally breathed his last; we brought Waters a fresh cup of water with which to moisten his wounds, and then left the room to catch an hour’s sleep; but the recollections of that terrible night will not soon be effaced from my memory.

The above incident occurred on the night of the 23d and morning of the 24th of September, 1846.  During the early part of the month of February following, while passing into the old St. Charles, in this city, we were accosted with a strange voice by a fine-looking man, who seemed extremely glad to see us, although he had a most singular and unaccountable mode of expressing himself.  We recollected the eye as one we had been familiar with, but the lower features of the face, although in no way disfigured, for the life of us, we could not make out.