The Child of Waterloo, or, The Horrors of the Battle-Field — page 296: what you’re looking at

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

THE OHILD OF WATERLOO. 293 When darkness came over the field of battle, then I stole out, and wandered over the sanguinary spot, to see what French blood I might pour out upon the yet reeking plain. The first I met was a wounded officer. ‘“‘Save me!” he said. ‘‘I am an officer, and am rich, and can pay you wellfor your service. I am dying for help.” ‘*‘ What will you give me?” ‘* A thousand francs,” he replied. ‘‘ Not enough—not enough.” ‘Pwo thousand.” ‘* Not enough— not enough,” I again replied, and was about to raise my sword to plunge it into his breast, when he screamed out: “Five thousand—any sum I am possessed of! I give you my sacred honor that it shall be paid you. Oh, save me— save me! Isee you will, Thank you—thank God!” ‘¢Frenchman,” I replied, ‘‘ know that you have met the ene- my of your race; one who hates you for your nation. I have received wrong at their hands, and all whom I meet I shall slay, destroy, and pour out their blood without remorse. Take your death from my hand.” As I spoke I plunged my sword into his breast. He gave a sudden, convulsive start, and then he sank back with an ex- pression of agony on his countenance. ; The same evening I destroyed no less than fifteen Frenchmen, who fell beneath the point of my sword—they fell to rise no more, They might have lived, had assistance been offered them; but I killed them. The French deserve this retribution; they are ruthless, and have no mercy themselves—-let none be shown them. The last man who fell was an officer of rank. I know their hated tongue well. I know how they place their watches and their guards—they are familiar to me. The night was dark, pitchy dark, and I left our encampment and went over to the enemy, at the same time being acquainted with all that appertains to their mode of encampment; at the same time they would have let me pass, had I presented myself in the character of a deserter. I stole into their camp, and stood by a tent that was but, dim- ly lighted, and I heard two officers conversing together. I list- ened to them, and heard the following words pass,— ‘*' Well, Lavolt, Iam glad it is no worse. You will be well in a week or two at the furthest. ‘I was afraid, when I saw you carried by, that you might have been mortally wounded.” ‘‘T thought I was done for,” said Lavolt; ‘‘ but I think I shall get over it, though my wound looks bad.” ‘‘ The surgeon told me the reverse of all this. He said, for all he could tell to the contrary, you would be well enough to re- sume your duties in a fortnight.” ‘‘T hope I may, for the Lady Julia’s sake.” | ‘It was for her sake I made such particular inquiries con- cerning your wound. Had it been worse, I would bave written to inform her brother.” comicbooks. com