The mountain sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1844-1853, 1849-08-16
MIS- Z L A II E o U S
AN INCIDENT OF WATERLOO.
BY J. T. HEADLEY.

A few months since, | was standing on
the field of Waterloo, on the anniversary
day of that great battle. The fields were
waveing with the ripening grain, just as
thew were on that memorable morning be-
fore trodden down by the squadrons. AS
| stood where Wellington stood, on the
ridge occupied by the English lines, and
surveyed the entire field, and looked down
on the narrow valley where the fate OF all
Europe was once put up and battled Tor,
a world of conflicting emotions struggled
for mastery within me. The magnIh-
cence and pomp of that stern array were
before me, and my ear seemed distinctly
to catch the first cannon shot that opened
the conflict. Far on the right comes
[,own the Hougoumont, jerome Bona
parte, with his twelve thousand men. A
Sheet of fire runs along the walls of the
chateau, and gap opens in the advancing
columns of the foe. Its mangled head
melts like frost work before the destruc-
tive fire. The smoke of the battle covers
them from the sight, and rolls up the val
ley, and 10! | see nothing but The melee
of horses and riders, the tossing OF ban
ners, and the soaring of the French Eagle
amid the cloud of war, and hear naught
but the roar of artillery, the bray ing of
trumpets, and the blast of the bugIe sound
ing the charge, and the heavy shock OF
cavalry.
Amid the confusion and terror of a
scene like this, which the Imagination VIII
call up on such battlefield, how natu-
rally does the mind restson SOME single
character or incident, and gather around 1t
all the interest OF the fight. 1t may not
be so with others, buL.1 find 1t true OF
myself in all circumstances | remember,
when standing on the Dp oil the colonade
of ST. Peter S, and looking down at the
tens of thousands that were waiting the
blessing of the Pope, forgotall IN poor
pilgrim beggar and his boy, that reclined
on The ample steps. Their distant home
among the Italian hills, their weary aspect
as they slumbered there In the sunlight,
and their sudden starting up as blast OF a
solitary trumpet announced the approach
of his Holiness formed the ground work
of scene more touching than the one be-
fore me. So it was here. In the church
of the little hamlet of Waterloo, lying or
the, edge of this field, are multitude oi
tablets, placed above officers who fell IN
this battle. Among them IS one recording
the death of q mere boy, who formed one
of Wellington's suite. The epitaph closes
with--.he was eighteen years old; this
was his twentieth battle" gazed on II
with feelings of the profoundest melan'
choly. So. young and yet SO tried
Traiaeaa amid the smoke and thunder ol
battle, accustomed almost from infancy to
scenes of carnage and cruelty, what a
moral effect 1t must have had upon his
character. An angel could not abide such
discipline. walked over the field with
an English officer of raifk, and CLEANED
fromihnn the Neutrality-suspicious. of his life,
which have filled up.
Young Gordon lmy memory may be
wrong here respecting the name, 1t having
become illegible in my note book,) was
the second SON of a distinguished English
family. He had obtained place in Wei
lington's suite, though::a mere boy, and
had been with him through all the PENN
sular campaign. He was fitted by nature
for soldier Enthusiastic. bold, and
strangely ambitious, the excitement oil
battle and the occasions it gave for dlstin-
gushing himself,were his delight. Around
his frank and open countenance clustered
ringlets of chesnut hair, while his blue
Saxon eye spoke at once the generosity