The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 11: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

8 THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. weight it rolls over that sad group, and then makes frantic efforts to regain its feet. One of its hoofs came in contact with the already fearfully-mangled head of the sutler and plunderer of the dead, who had met with so well-deserved a fate at the hands of Rafferty. It was horrible to hear the hideous crash which was produced by the concussion which hurled the bod some yards off, where it lay, strangely doubled up, as if in atti- tude prepared for a spring. The young ensign shut his eyes, for in another moment he knew the horse would be upon or over him, he felt as if a sud- den wind was sweeping past his face. The mad horse had cleared his prostrate form at a bound, and the danger was over, ‘* Sir,” said Rafferty, ‘‘a mighty fine jump that, sir. The hind hoof of the creature was not a mile, if an inch was that same, from the top of your head.” The young man shuddered at the danger he had passed. ‘* Rafferty,” he said, ‘‘can you hear nothing? Surely there are parties sent across the field to succor the wounded. We shall not be left here to die, Rafferty, shall we?” **No, sir. But only think what alot of boys there are on the field, sir, and many of them worse off than we are.” ‘¢ Not much worse, Rafferty, not much worse.” The same dreadful groan, which at such long intervals seemed to be forced by acute pain from the French officer, now came upon the ears again of the ensign and Rafferty. ‘* Do you hear that, Rafferty ?” | “*T do, sir. He’s a Frenchman; but then you know, sir, we shouldn’t be hard on him for that, he couldn’t help it. It’s his misfortune, sir, not his fault, poor devil! He couldn’t make himself be born in that nate Irish town, Ballyobothershin, you know, sir.” The wounded French officer seemed to have heard what Raf- ferty said, or, at all events, he heard the voice, if he under- stood not the purport of all the words. That he could speak English, however, he now proved, by saying a few words in that language. ‘* Who speaks,” he said—‘‘ who speaks?” ‘It’s me, Frenchy,” said Rafferty. ‘‘ Parley vous, Frenchy, how do you find yourself, old fellow ?” ‘*¢ Are you badly hurt?” said the young ensign. There was something in the young man’s voice which seemed to inspire the French officer with a feeling of confidence, as he said, faintly— ‘‘Tam dying—I am dying! But why should those I love die here—those who had all to lose and nothing to gain by this dreadful day of slaughter? We—we might be satisfied with what we call glory but—but the happiness of those she loved, was ever her dearest delight—her last—Jast care in this world, I am dying—I am dying.” ‘*T fear,” said the ensign. ‘‘that we cannot aid you. I am hurt seriously, I think myself,” comicbooks. com