Part 20 (1/2)

But it was too late, and the odds were too vast.

Wellington, who, by Blucher's arrival, was enabled to bring his reserve into play, now ordered his whole army to advance. And yet once more the Allies were forced to pause for a moment by a furious charge led by Ney--the lion of the day.

”Do you see him there!” cried the captain, his eyes flas.h.i.+ng.

And Cousin Hans saw him, the romantic hero, Duke of Elchingen, Prince of Moskwa, son of a cooper in Saarlouis, Marshal and Peer of France. He saw him rush onward at the head of his battalions--five horses had been shot under him with his sword in his hand, his uniform torn to shreds, hatless, and with the blood streaming down his face.

And the battalions rallied and swept ahead; they followed their Prince of Moskwa, their savior at the Beresina, into the hopeless struggle for the Emperor and for France. Little did they dream that, six months later, the King of France would have their dear prince shot as a traitor to his country in the gardens of the Luxembourg.

There he rushed around, rallying and directing his troops, until there was nothing more for the general to do; then he plied his sword like a common soldier until all was over, and he was carried away in the rout.

For the French army fled.

The Emperor threw himself into the throng; but the terrible hubbub drowned his voice, and in the twilight no one knew the little man on the white horse.

Then he took his stand in a little square of his Old Guard, which still held out upon the plain; he would fain have ended his life on his last battlefield. But his generals flocked around him, and the old grenadiers shouted: ”Withdraw, Sire! Death will not have you.”

They did not know that it was because the _Emperor_ had forfeited his right to die as a French soldier. They led him half-resisting from the field; and, unknown in his own army, he rode away into the darkness of the night, having lost everything. ”So ended the battle of Waterloo,”

said the captain, as he seated himself on the bench and arranged his neck-cloth.--Cousin Hans thought with indignation of Uncle Frederick, who had spoken of Captain Schrappe in such a tone of superiority. He was, at least, a far more interesting personage than an old official mill-horse like Uncle Frederick.

Hans now went about and gathered up the gloves and other small objects which the generals, in the heat of the fight, had scattered over the battle-field to mark the positions; and, as he did so, he stumbled upon old Blucher. He picked him up and examined him carefully.

He was a hard lump of granite, knubbly as sugar-candy, which almost seemed to bear a personal resemblance to ”Feldtmarschall Vorwarts.” Hans turned to the captain with a polite bow.

”Will you allow me, captain, to keep this stone. It will be the best possible memento of this interesting and instructive conversation, for which I am really most grateful to you.” And thereupon he put Blucher into his coat-tail pocket.

The captain a.s.sured him that it had been a real pleasure to him to observe the interest with which his young friend had followed the exposition. And this was nothing but the truth, for he was positively enraptured with Cousin Hans.

”Come and sit down now, young man. We deserve a little rest after a ten-hours' battle,” he added, smiling.

Cousin Hans seated himself on the bench and felt his collar with some anxiety. Before coming out, he had put on the most fascinating one his wardrobe afforded. Fortunately, it had retained its stiffness; but he felt the force of Wellington's words: ”Night or Blucher”--for it would not have held out much longer.

It was fortunate, too, that the warm afternoon sun had kept strollers away from the esplanade. Otherwise a considerable audience would probably have gathered around these two gentlemen, who went on gesticulating with their arms, and now and then prancing around.

They had had only one on-looker--the sentry who stands at the corner of the gymnastic-school.

His curiosity had enticed him much too far from his post, for he had marched several leagues along the highway from Brussels to Waterloo.

The captain would certainly have called him to order long ago for this dereliction of duty but for the fact that the inquisitive private had been of great strategic importance. He represented, as he stood there, the whole of Wellington's reserve; and now that the battle was over the reserve retired in good order northward towards Brussels, and again took up _le poste perdu_ at the corner of the gymnastic-school.

III.

”Suppose you come home and have some supper with me,” said the captain; ”my house is very quiet, but I think perhaps a young man of your character may have no great objection to pa.s.sing an evening in a quiet family.”

Cousin Hans's heart leaped high with joy; he accepted the invitation in the modest manner peculiar to him, and they were soon on the way to No.

34.

How curiously fortune favored him to-day! Not many hours had pa.s.sed since he saw her for the first time; and now, in the character of a special favorite of her father, he was hastening to pa.s.s the evening in her company.

The nearer they approached to No. 34, in the more life-like colors did the enchanting vision of Miss Schrappe stand before his eyes; the blonde hair curling over the forehead, the lithe figure, and then these roguish, light-blue eyes!