I wished to
be a man.
The time soon came,--the morning of Waterloo. But why describe
that momentous battle, on which the fate of the entire world was
hanging? Twice were the Fifty-sixth surrounded by French
cuirassiers, and twice did we mow them down by our fire. I had
seven horses shot under me, and was mounting the eighth, when an
orderly rode up hastily, touched his cap, and, handing me a
despatch, galloped rapidly away.
I opened it hurriedly and read:--
"LET PICTON ADVANCE IMMEDIATELY ON THE RIGHT."
I saw it all at a glance. I had been mistaken for a general
officer. But what was to be done? Picton's division was two miles
away, only accessible through a heavy cross fire of artillery and
musketry. But my mind was made up.
In an instant I was engaged with an entire squadron of cavalry, who
endeavored to surround me. Cutting my way through them, I advanced
boldly upon a battery and sabred the gunners before they could
bring their pieces to bear. Looking around, I saw that I had in
fact penetrated the French centre. Before I was well aware of the
locality, I was hailed by a sharp voice in French,--
"Come here, sir!"
I obeyed, and advanced to the side of a little man in a cocked hat.
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