The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 292: what you’re looking at

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

THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. 289 ve ‘ was a bold game, and, had it been successful, what a re- sult The wretched man endeavored to find consolation in the re- flection that it would last him but a short time, for the knowl- edge that he must in a few hours die—it was a dreadful knowl- edge—kept forcing itself more strongly upon his mind, and the more dreadful did it seem. However, the hours passed by, and the evening came. His meals were brought him, but though he drank, he ate but little. He seemed feverish, but not hungry. His eyes became red, and his whole appearance disordered. At night the turnkey came in to sit up with him, It was the custom then to do so, and he felt this was an annoyance to hin, for it forced the hateful knowledge upon his mind that he was compelled to die in a very few hours. ‘‘What is the time now?” inquired Sternholde, suddenly speaking, for the first time, to the turnkey who had to sit up with him all night long. ‘‘ A little after six.” ‘¢ And to-morrow at eight I am to die ?” ‘“‘Youare,” replied the man. ‘‘ There is scarce fourteen hours before you cease to live,” said the man. Sternholde felt himself weak; he knew not how it was, but a sudden weakness seized him; he felt a sinking at his heart, as if his strength was not enough to enable him to retain his seat. Indeed, it seemed as if he were about to sink through the earth, such a dreadful sense of his position now came over him. He staggered, rather than walked, to his pallet, and there lay down; and as he did so he thought he heard some confused noise in the courtyard. He thought there was the sound of work- men—of hammers and hammering—and the dreadful truth flashed across him, ‘*What—what noise is that ?” he inquired of the man who sat up with him during that night. ‘‘They are erecting the scaffold,” was the man’s reply. Sternholde felt a shudder creep over him, which he tried to suppress, and which he could no more stop than he could have carried himself suddenly away from that dreadful place. Slowly passed the hours, and as they paseed, decreased the short span of life that remained, and with it fled much of that courage or scorn of death that had served to support him during his previous career. The sounds of the workmen became painfully distinct, and he could hear—nay, almost feel, every nail that was driven, and every beam that was raised. Hecould not bear tolisten to these sounds, and yet his mind was chained down to them, and he could listen to nothing else—he could think of nothing else. How painful it was, the sweat that bedewed his brow alone could testify. The man that sat up with him alone attempted once or twice to speak to him, but finding he was not inclined to talk, said no more, though now Sternholde wished he would speak to him, but he could not induce bim to de so, He could comicbooks. com