The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 298: what you’re looking at

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

THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. 295 awe—they all declared I had a charmed life, that many a Frenchman had leveled and fired, but they never hit me. They rushed on to the attack with me, and many a French- man fell by my efforts. I hate the cursed nation to a man. The evening is come, and my brother officers are all reposing after the cares of the day; but what are they to me? It is fine recreation—enjoyment—pleasure to kill Frenchmen; it is my delight. Nothing on earth can give a calmer feeling to my mind! There lies a French officer—he has a broken limb, and yonder are the relief parties. He must never see them, save to feel in the moment of death how horrible is the pang of disappointment at such a moment as this. ‘‘ Yonder,” said I to him, ‘‘ come the relief parties.” ‘‘T see—I see—thank God! Oh! my leg—it is broken! What agony! , But they are off ?” 66 0.” ** Will you call, stranger? my throat is parched. I can hardly draw in breath! My mouth is incased with a crust.” “Tam the destroyer of your race! Take your death from my hand!” and IT plunged my sword’s point through his body, just below the left breast. On the same evening, as usual, I stole into the enemy’s encamp- ment, and made my way from tent to tent, destroving four or five, until I came to another, when I again heard the sound of voices as in deep conversation. " ‘“‘You think our plan of operations to-day, then, not the best that could be adopted ?” ‘** Certainly not.” ‘‘And what do you deem grounds sufficient to enable you to say so?” demanded the first. ‘*Because it has been a mere series of assaults, one mass of men thrown upon another, until they are projected forward and another being compelled to retire. Nothing but fresh men, fresh regiments—no matter what amount of human life may be sacri- ficed, the emperor thinks not of that.” ‘*No; but we have gained a ms ctona ‘We have, we have; but our laurels are dyed deeply in the gore of our own people.” ‘“‘Granted, and so must all such victories.” ‘‘That is incontestible. But France must in time cease to pour out such countless numbers to fight her battles; the enemy has lost a battle, but they will be ready to fight again in a week. Each new victory appears to beget us new enemies, and we must go on increasing in strength, while, in point of fact, we are de- creasing in each battle by the loss of our oldest and best sol- ers,’ ‘* Well, well, I will say no more now; the time will come when you will be convinced of the fallacy of all these dismal forebodings and opinions. Adieu.” ‘‘ Adieu; may you’ be preserved against the fate of many a friend of ours who has fallen this day.” ‘* But covered with glory.” : comicbooks. com