Wheeling Sunday register. [volume] (Wheeling, W. Va.) 1882-1934, 1900-08-19

men stood by me, Sancho Diaz and An
atole Mendez; they cursed Ramon as
he fed, they quickly loaded me ana
fred-again I was loaded-the Poles
were at the mouth OF the battery, our
infantry were flying in all directions up
and over the mountain sides-the gun
ners had fed, all except brave Sancho
and Anatole who remained steadfast
and were sabered to death. Anatole
sank and crawled beneath me and the
slashing sabres fell across my body,
and the sears are yet there, if you care
to notice.
To our shame and sorrow the day
was lost. Gallant old San Juan begged
and strove to stop his flying soldiers,
but in vain All was lost. Wagons,
stores, colors, guns and officers, were
the spoils of Napoleon-and the loss of
the Poles was but fifty men.
~
Napoleon was elated. He dismount-
ed and stood near me in the middle
of the pass He wore a green pelisse,
fur trimmed and lined, and with his
cooked hat well pulled down upon his
forehead. He looked about, noting the
strong defensive features of the place,
and then remarked: This position IN
the keeping of brave soldiers is i'm
pregnable."
l watched him with keen interest
and noticed that he was slight of stat
ure, with pale, thoughtful face, chin
compressed lips, and slightly sunken
cheeks, while in his full yet deep set
eyes there was that penetrating and
commanding glance OF genius. He
turned and looked along the cannon
comprising the battery-he was an ar
tilleryman himself-and | was gratitied
as he stepped toward me and tapping
the brass ridge about my throat with
his knuckles, said;-"fhis is a good
cannon--to these little fellows | owe a
great measure of my success. Such
fellows used at Toulon, and in the
streets of Paris when l quelled the
mob for the Convention" Then he
tapped me again, affectionately 1t
seemed, and said: I'VE shall make
good use of these little fellows He
then turned and joined his staff.
l was with him then in his entry to
Madrid-I sent shot after shot against its
walls. l was with him in his wild chase
after Sir John Moore, and was dragged
through and over the Guadarrama noun
tains in binding snow storms and driving
sleet, when men and horses in the fury
of the storm were hurled over mountain
precipices to their destruction. In the al
most impossible places the Emperor rode
astride of a cannon just ahead of me
his marshals and generals doing the same.
1 myself was horse for Gen. Marriott.
After frightful exposure through noun
tains and muddy plains we came in sight
of the flying English. When pressed hard
into Corruna, Moore gave battle. During
an intermission the English embarked and
escaped But brave Sir John was killed
struck by a cannon ball. He was buried
on the ramparts of the citadel in his mill
tary cloak Napoleon at once erected a
monument to his memory. That was long
ago, when times were troublesome and
full of death.
Later 1 was captured by Wellington and
was with him in his campaigns and in all
the succeeding Spanish revolutions.
had grown sick of the sight of blood and
the frightful screams and groans of the
dying.
Peace? I have had years of quietude,
broken only by salvos and salutes at
feast times and the yearly thunderings
on the birthdays of Spanish kings and
queens.
Love? Love is not a part of our lives.
but do you see the name 'Joas' carved on
my back? He was my artillerio for years
"a stalwart son of La Mancha, the land
of Don Quixote. Some time l may tell
you of Joas, my master and godfather
and of his tragic love affair-ah that too.
was years and years ago"
Then the little cannon relapsed into re-
pose again-still looking to the south
east-still looking toward Seville! Strain
ing. perhaps, with invisible eyes to see
the CLEANS of the Castle d ORC. the Cathe-
dral towers and palace walls and the curl
ing smoke OF the arsenal-and thinking.
perhaps, of the happy days of years ago
along the placid Guadalquiver. Quien
Sabe? Who can tell?
BARON JONES.