The mountain sentinel. [volume] (Ebensburg, Pa.) 1844-1853, 1849-08-16


manner. He told them the fate of the
battle and of France was in their hands.
He was answered by those devoted hearts
1.-The Emperor forever!" with shout
that rung over the storm of battle, and was
! heard all along the British lines. He then
placed them under Ney, with orders to
force the British centre and prevent the
juncture of Blucher with the allied forces
The hitherto invincible Guard came in
beautiful order, and with hearts burning
with high hopes. They knew that their
Emperor and the civilized world weIe
looking on. They carried thrones and
kings as they went. They needed moth
or trumpet, or martial strain cheered them
on. No bugle sounded the charge. In
perfect order and complete silence they
| moved over the plain. Above them soar
ed the French Eagle no power had ever
yet wrested from their grasp, and on them
was theeye of Bonaparte.
The allied army saw, with awe and
dread, the approach of that unconquerable
, legion. The terror of Europe was on
the march. For moment the firing ceas-
| ed along the lines. The battle was hush
ed. The mutfled tread of the magnificent
! legion alone was heard. Oh, you should
have seen young Gordon then. With a
flushed cheek and dilating eye, and breath
coming difficult and thick, he gazes on
that silent host. He looked as if every
moment he would be off like thunder
, bolt.
This sudden calm was but momentary.
The artillery appeared like volcano on
the foe. Whole ranks went down before
the destructive fire, yet they taltered not
for moment. Over their fallen comrades
with the same steady front, they moved
on, across the valley, and up the slope.
Before their cool, resistless charge, the
English lines melted like frost work.
I They received the last fire of the artillery
full on their bosoms, then walked over the
cannon, artillerymen and all. On, on,
like reslstless wave they swept, carry
ing every thing down in their passage, till
they approached within a few rods of
where Wellington stood. All seemed lost,
! when rank OF men, who had laid fiat on
their faces behind low ridge of earth,
suddenly heard the ringing order of up,
| Guards, and at EN- They started up
as from the bowels of the earth, and pour
ed their destructive fire in the very faces
VI tiidt udru ncy TeCOlIcu
TO the discharge as if smitten with a sud-
den blow. A second and third followed.
They reeled and staggered a moment, then
turned and fled. Young Gordon could be
restrained no longer. He burst away
with yell like that of madman, and
was lost in the fight.
The battle was over. The thunder of
the distant cannon came at intervals In
the night air, telling where Bldcher trod
down the foe. Wellington had left to him
the pursuit, and was leading back his
weary and bleeding army over the battle
field. The full round moon was riding
the quiet heavens, ,lghting up the mangled
masses of human flesh that weighed down
the field. Here an epaulett and there
shivered sword flashed back its beams
Groans loaded the air, while the death
shrek came at intervals on the air. Wei
lington wept! The excitement and rage
of the battle were over, and his heart
sickened at the awful scene before him.
Among heap of slain, young Gordon
was stretched. His sword lay shivered
at his side, dabbled with blood. The min
iature of his sister had fallen from his bo-
som, and that spiritual face seemed turn
ing up towards heaven. A bullet had
ploughed up his cheek and traversing his
! brain, ended his life at blow. "He was
! but eighteen years of age. and this was
his twentieth batle' He sleeps in the
/ little church at Waterloo, within sight of
his last battle field.
The history of that sister is soon told.
In country churchyard of England is a
! plain monument recording her death and
virtues. | turned away murmuring to
myself. And these were but two of the
! twenty thousand hearts that single battle
broke Oh, War! thou last invention of
man for his own destruction!
Il say, my son, where does the ri.ht
hand road go to-
Don't know, sir; tain't been nowhere
since we lived here.
70 Longfellow beautifully says in his
'Kavanagh, lit is curious to note the old
sea margin of human thought! Each sub
siding century reveals some new mystery;
we build where monsters used to live
themselves