The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 13: what you’re looking at

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

10 THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. you, or you may have done as much for me; but I am dying, and the fight is over. I can see by this faint light that you are young. Perhaps you have some happy home, where there are smiling faces to greet you—where there are fond hearts that love you, Look at this babe. Oh, if you have known affections—if around your heart are woven those invisi- ble ties which bind all who are brave or generous to some loved objects, you will not refuse my prayer! ITamdying. My last words are for your ear—my last thoughts may be else- where; but Englishman—conqueror-—on this field of blood, I ask you to protect this child. It is not one which will disgrace you.” “Tt shall never want a friend in me. God forbid that at such a time I should refuse so sacred a trust.” ‘‘1—I—have not words in which to bless you. Bless you: take the dearest, but——” He, with a great effort. laid the infant down close to the young Englishman, who placed his arms round it, saying: ‘*T swear to you, on the honor of a soldier, that I will have this little one taken care of.” It was a trivial circumstance, and perhaps accidental, but the young babe, for such it was, as if with a consciousness of the words that were uttered, placed one of its tiny hands into one of the voung officer’s, while with large, lustrous eyes, it seemed to look beseeching'ly in his face. The man was much affected as he said: ** Tell me, sir, the name of the child ?” “‘Mahel.” ‘‘ And are vou its father ?” ‘¢J—I—help—help: I die. Water—oh, for one draught of water. Marie—Marie—Marie—my Marie!” With a strange gurgling sob he fell backward. Blood gushed from his mouth, there was fora moment a curious movement of the limbs, and then all was still. He was a corpse. CHAPTER MI. EVEN as the French officer drew his latest breath, there came a strange, lurid light across the battte-field. It fell upon the faces of the dead, giving them a supernatural appearance, a singular aspect of renewed vitalitv, and as shadows were pro- duced by the movements of the light, one could almost have expected to see those stiffened corses lying in their gore rise up again to make that field of blood ten times more hideous than it was. The light fell upon the sparkling uniform, too, of the French officer, and it fell upon the face of the living child, which the young ensign, who now felt a drowsiness creeping over him he dreaded to encourage, held to his breast. It did not cry, it did not sleep, but nestled close to him, and looked earnestly in his face. Occasionally. too, it moved one of its little hands, and di»ped the tip of one of the tiniest fingers in the world in the pool of blood which was close to it, and then it comicbooks. com