The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 6: what you’re looking at

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

THE CHILD OF WATERLOO. 8 let him say it agin; or, if he didn’t, why, thin, he needn't, and hold his peace, by the blazes,” | This was certainly not the most intelligible speecn in the world, and yet it was welcome to the ears of the young officer, who, making a great exertion to speak loud enough to be well heard, said: ‘*My good fellow, is your name——” *‘ Rafferty Brolickbones, at your honor’s service,” ‘«T—knew it.” “‘Did your honor? May I be so bould, sir, as to ask what regiment your honor sports your elegant figure in as an officer ?” ‘‘ How know you I am an officer ?’ ‘‘ Faith, thin, it’s dark it is, surely; but there’s a fire beyant yonder, and the smallest gleam of it comes and goes, like a jJack- a-lantern, on your honor’s shoulder.” ‘“Oh, God! I am sadly hurt, I fear I shall—bleed—bleed to death!” ‘¢ Amin, sir.” ‘‘T am faint—dreadfully faint, with loss of blood—and—and a death sickness is coming o’er me!” ‘* A——-min, sir.” ‘‘Curso you!” said the young man. ‘‘Go it agin, sir. Get ina passion. It’s as good as a glass of brandy, when that same isn’t to be had. Bedad, sir, you were givin’ a catalogue of your grievances—now I’ve lost one of my ears, there’s a hole in my shoulder, and one of my legs is broke, in a manner o’ spaking.’ ‘How do you mean ?” ‘* Oh, clane and easy, sir, that’s all. The blood of the O’Con- nors of Meath, and the Sullivans of County Cavan, sir, is run- ning about, sir, all round me, like peas in a skovel.” Again the deep groan came upon the young officer’s ears, and raising himself as wel] as he could, although with great pain, upon one arm, he said: you ; jpeak—speak, Who groans so sadly? Speak, I implore ‘‘ Mon Dieu!” said a voice. ‘‘ Ma chere Louise—ma petite——” Then there wins a deep sob and a groan, as if it were the last that could come from a broken heart. ‘‘Gracious Heaven,” said the young officer, and he let him- self fall back again among his own blood, ‘‘Sir—sir,” said Rafferty. ‘‘T hear,” said the other, faintly. ‘‘Some Frenchman that, I'm thinking, sir. Polly vous Frenchy. How are you, old fellow? ‘Whist, sir, there’s some- body coming.” Creeping along the battle-field, in a strange, crouched-up at- titude, so as to be almost on a level with the heap of carnage that lay about, came a human form. It took a wayward course, now turning a few feet to one side and then to the other. Sometimes stooping down so low as to be nearly lost to view, and at others rising higher, showing a large dusky bulk in the dim light that still lingered on that dreadful field of blood, comicbooks. com