Herbert Archer and other stories

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Material Information

Title:
Herbert Archer and other stories
Physical Description:
1 v. (unpaged) : ill. (some col.) ; 19 cm.
Language:
English
Creator:
Thynne, Charles, 1816-1881
Lydon, A. F ( Alexander Francis ) ( Illustrator )
Groombridge and Sons ( Publisher )
Publisher:
Groombridge and Sons
Place of Publication:
London
Publication Date:

Subjects

Subjects / Keywords:
Children -- Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Conduct of life -- Juvenile literature   ( lcsh )
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Children's stories -- 1879   ( lcsh )
Biographies -- 1879   ( rbgenr )
Publishers' catalogues -- 1879   ( rbgenr )
Bldn -- 1879
Genre:
Children's stories   ( lcsh )
Biographies   ( rbgenr )
Publishers' catalogues   ( rbgenr )
Spatial Coverage:
England -- London

Notes

Statement of Responsibility:
by Lady Charles Thynne ; illustrated.
General Note:
Date of publication from inscription.
General Note:
Frontispiece printed in colors and some illustrations by A.F. Lydon.
General Note:
Contains fiction and non-fiction.
General Note:
Publisher's catalogue follows text.
Funding:
Preservation and Access for American and British Children's Literature, 1870-1889 (NEH PA-50860-00).

Record Information

Source Institution:
University of Florida
Holding Location:
Baldwin Library of Historical Children's Literature in the Department of Special Collections and Area Studies, George A. Smathers Libraries, University of Florida
Rights Management:
All rights reserved, Board of Trustees of the University of Florida.
Resource Identifier:
aleph - 002238554
notis - ALH9070
oclc - 61514795
System ID:
UF00047778:00001

Full Text

















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HERBERT ARCHER


BY


LADY CHARLES THYNNE.


AND


OTHER STORIES.




ILL USTRATED.












LONDON:
GROOMBRIDGE AND SONS.
.4












THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

BY LADY CHARLES THYNNE.



CHAPTER I.

ARBADOES has but little beauty of scenery,
though hero and there spots may be found
which are not wholly unattractive. One
-- of these had been selected by Colonel
Archer as his residence, when he was appointed to
a post of some responsibility, which gave him occu-
pation, and, at the same time, secured to him and
his family a comfortable income. The house was
situated on rising ground, which commanded a good
view of the scenery below, bounded in the far distance
by the lohg line of sea which glistened in the horizon.
Though there was none of that thick, luxuriant, tropi-
cal foliage which abounds in the other islands, the
residence of Colonel Archer was surrounded by large
trees, which formed a kind of grove, and afforded a
shelter from the extreme heat. A brighter and happier
home could not be found.
Mrs. Archer's married life had been as happy as
her husband's devoted love could make it. Only one
shadow marred its brightness, and that was the recol-
lection of the pain her marriage had given her father.
She was his favourite child, as well as his only daugh-
ter, and he could never be persuaded to look upon
7 145






THE STORY OF HERBERT AECHER.

Colonel Archer in any other light than as one who
had robbed him of the treasure he most valued. But,
sanguine by nature, and, as yet, strong in her youth
and hope, she looked forward to the time when she
should be able to rejoin him. "He must forgive me
when I bring these darlings to plead for me," she
often said, as she watched her children playing in the
verandah of the room in which she sat and worked.
But that hope was not destined to be fulfilled, for Sir
Robert -i... ..-- died while Emily Archer still remained
abroad, and she did not receive from her father's lips
the fond blessing he sent her before he died. In the
bright and joyous youth of her children she seemed
to have everything she could desire. They gave her
constant occupation; and Colonel Archer so sur-
rounded her with every comfort, that the minor trials
of life fell lightly upon her.
But all Colonel Archer's tender care for his wife
could not ward off the coming evil. A malignant fever
broke out, decimating the population; and Colonel
Archer, who was most active and energetic in arrang-
ing hospitals for the sick, and devising schemes to
arrest the progress of the fatal disease, caught it, and
fell a victim to its ravages, and was buried by the side
of his two youngest children, who had been carried off
when the fever was at its height.
At her husband's death Mrs. Archer lost the greater
portion of her income, and in her desolation she re-
turned to England to educate her two surviving sons,
whose future was now her only consideration. Appre-
hensive of the depressing influence of the change of
climate, she took a small cheerful cottage at iclhmond
until she could make some arrangements for their
going to school. The eldest, Herbert, a high-spiritcl
and affectionate boy, was rapidly becoming beyond his
.140







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

mother's control, and the violent bursts of passion to
which he often gave way terrified her. In vain did
she remonstrate: he seemed at times no longer his
own master.
Not many months elapsed before Mrs. Archer left
Richmond, and took a lodging at Llanillo, a remote
village on the Welsh coast, not far from Bangor, which
was the nearest town to the school where she had
determined to send her boys. That they might have
some idea of school life before they embarked in it,
Mrs. Archer generally sent them to spend the day at
Dr. Mercer's.
Down House," as the school was called, was a
large stone house, with a high brick wall and iron
gates in front. At the back two large gardens opened
into a field, which was the boys' playground. A broad
gravel walk led to it from the house.
Mrs. Mercer, who had charge of the younger boys,
was a silent, stiff, formal woman, and Lionel Archer,
the younger of the two boys, took an aversion to her
at once. Dr. MIercer was a middle-aged man, with a
hearty manner and good-natured voice, and was a
general favourite.
At last the day came when Herbert and Lionel
Archer were to be left at the Down House. Mrs.
Archer forced herself to maintain a cheerful counte-
nance, and did her best to encourage the boys. She
entrusted Lionel to Herbert's care, and took her leave.
Herbert's face was fixed and stony, but Lionel sobbed
as if his heart would break. Mrs. Mercer removed
him gently from Mrs. Archer, and put him into a small
parlour near the door. At the sound of the wheels
he looked up to catch the last sight of his mother, and
saw a multitude of faces peering in at the window;
and one of the boys, the wag of the school, pretended
147







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

to cry, at the same time singing a doleful chaunt of
" Cry, baby, cry s put your finger in your eye," which
was soon sung in chorus by the rest. Dr. Mercer,
who had been talking to Herbert, turned round and
spoke to the boys sharply, desiring them to take
Herbert and Lionel into the playground at once.
You should have prevented this, Heffer," he said
to a boy that seemed much older than the rest; "I look
to you to see that this kind of thing does not occur
again. There is nothing manly in teasing little boys."
The boys trooped off to the playground; but the
boy who had been laughing at Lionel's grief could not
give up the pleasure of tormenting.
Hallo the Doctor is quite concerned lest the
pretty dear should be vexed. Let us learn these gen-
tlemen's names, that we may address them properly."
"Now, Watson, let us have no more of this," said
George Heffer, the boy to whom Dr. Mercer had
spoken. Come with me," he said, turning to Her-
bert, "you had better let your brother go with the
younger boys."
But Lionel clung to Herbert, resolutely resisting a
group of little boys, who were trying to induce him to
go with them to join in some game at the far end of
the playground.
"But we have not heard your name yet," said
another boy, turning to Herbert.
I should think you had, for I have been here
before," he replied, shortly. My name is Herbert
Archer, and my brother's is Lionel."
Thank you. Ursa major and Ursa minor," said
Watson, in a tone of mock deference. "I hope we
shall all remember."
Big bear and little bear what does he mean ?"
asked a small boy, who was standing near.
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THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

"It means that 'little pitchers have long ears,'
which are made to be boxed," replied Watson, ad-
ministering a hearty cuff to the little boy, who slunk
away in evident terror.
Lionel looked on in dismay, and Herbert in silent
indignation; but there were no studies done that day,
which passed off better than they expected, owing to
the excitement of a number of schoolboys bent upon
amusing themselves.


CHAPTER II.
MRS. ARCHER took a lodging at Bangor for a fortnight,
during which time she went over twice to see her sons;
but she soon came to the conclusion that they would
be happier if there were no possibility of their seeing
her, and decided at last to accept her sister-in-law's
repeated invitation to Aston Hall. She went over to
see her boys before she left, but heard no especial
complaint, except that Lionel thought his lessons very
hard, and that the Latin grammar was simply impos-
sible. Whatever Herbert felt, he did not express it,
so she left them in tolerable spirits. Indeed, as yet,
George Heffer's warning had prevented any especial
act of tyranny towards the "new boys"; but, by
degrees, he ceased to pay much attention, and left
them to fight their own way. Still, the unusual care
which the boys considered had been bestowed upon
the two Archers by the authorities, had rendered them
decidedly unpopular. Their foreign manner and ideas
also made them continual butts, and good subjects for
practical jokes, so that their life became daily more
difficult. Lionel, who was a nervous boy, became com-
pletely cowed, and Herbert had not the slightest power
149







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

to protect him. If he had had a single friend! but
the more moody and dispirited he became, the more
the boys believed him to be sulky, and badgered and
bullied him. He never complained in any of his letters
to his mother ; he would have borne it for himself;
but when he saw his merry, high-spirited brother
transformed into a timid, shrinking child, he had the
greatest difficulty in controlling frequent bursts of
passion.
There were one or two boys who took especial
delight in tormenting Lionel; one especially, a rough
and brutal boy whose name was James Turner, and
who was the head boy in the dormitory where Lionel
slept. This boy was a tyrant to all the younger boys,
and they were made his victims in all their games.
There was one game which Lionel dreaded above
all others, in which the smaller boys were supposed to
be horses, and were made to draw logs of wood and
an old ricketty wheelbarrow, in which the tyrant
Turner sat lashing the boys before him with a great
heavy whip. Sometimes they were fastened up to
the wall, and made to eat raw carrots; and the idea
was carried even so far that, in one or two instances,
nails were driven through the boys' boots, who were
then flogged for going lame. This last was too great
a piece of brutality for Herbert to see unmoved, and;
rushing up to James Turner, he said-
"Vile tyrant and bully! leave my brother alone.
Let him go, or I will make you repent it."
Herbert, like many boys who have lived ex-
clusively with grown-up people, was often in the
habit of using rather stilted language, so that this
outburst of anger was received by the bystanders with
a loud shout of derision.
"I should like to see the day," replied Turner,
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THE STORY OF HEEBERT ARCHER.

insolently, that you could make me repent any-
thing."
Herbert's only reply was to spring at his throat;
but Turner was a more strongly-built boy, and soon
threw him off.
I advise you not to meddle with your piccaninny.
He is my fag, and I shall do with him whatever I
choose."
"You won't," muttered Herbert between his
teeth; or, if you do, I'll have my revenge."
Come, clear off, dusky,"-a nickname which had
been given to Herbert from his dark complexion,-
said another boy. "If he plays with us, he must do
as we tell him."
"Yes, confound him for a puling baby, or I'll
make him," said Turner, smacking his long whip
within an inch of Lionel's ear.
Herbert turned perfectly livid with suppressed
rage, and stood speechless. Even Lionel was terrified
at the expression of his brother's face, and, creeping
up to him, caught hold of his hand, saying-
"Never mind, Herbert, it does not hurt me now."
It was late in the evening, and the boys were
collecting together for night prayers. As they trooped
in through the open door, Herbert slipped away un-
perceived. The cool, dewy evening did not soothe
his anger, or cool his burning temples, or still the
throbbing of his heart. He leaned against the wall,
and, looking up into the purple sky, swore with an
oath that was fearful on the lips of so young a boy,
that he would never rest day or night till he had had
his revenge. He uttered the words deliberately, with-
out a feeling of compunction. He was in a state of
unnatural excitement, and had brooded over his wrongs
for so long, with a continually increasing sense of
151







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

injury, that he felt neither shame nor horror at the
idea of revenge. On the contrary, it was with great
decision that he turned his mind to consider what
would be the best way of carrying out his vengeance.
He walked back into the house, which was perfectly
quiet-all the boys having gone in to night prayers;
and as he passed through the hall, and caught sight
of a tray containing the knives and forks which had
been brought out from the boys' supper, a gleam of
satisfaction flashed from his eyes, and he hastily took
up a small carving-knife, which he concealed under
his jacket.
Not make him repent it ? Won't I! He shall
see," he muttered, as he hastily rushed up into the
dormitory, and concealed the knife under his pillow.
When he came downstairs he was met by one of
the under-masters, who asked him if he were ill, and
why he had not appeared with the rest at prayers.
"I was late, sir," he answered, shortly.
"Late? Were you out, then? and had you the
Doctor's leave ?" asked Mr. Townshend, surprised at
his sullen manner.
I was only just outside the door, sir."
"There is less excuse for you then," replied the
master, sharply. Take care that this does not occur
again."
"All alike, all alike; one and all, cruel and
unjust," muttered Herbert, as he followed the other
boys upstairs.
There were three large dormitories, divided from
each other by a heavy curtain, though each had a
separate entrance. James Turner, the boy who had
been so especially brutal, and upon whom Herbert had
threatened to revenge himself, was the head boy in
the room in which Lionel slept. In less than a quar-
152







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

ter of an hour all the boys were in bed, and in
five minutes more were sleeping soundly. Herbert
lay still, with wide-open eyes and throbbing pulse,
watching the moonlight as it streamed in through the
window-curtain with a strange sort of dreamy feeling
that, as soon as the light fell across his bed, he must
get up and fulfil his hideous purpose. Was there no
still small voice to urge him to pause ? no memory of
prayers said at his mother's knee that could make him
stay his hand ? no echo from his dead father's last
words to induce him to draw back now-now, before
it was too late? Unhappily, the tension of his
nerves was so great that he was deaf to everything
but the one idea to which every fibre of his being
was strung-the wish for vengeance. The boy had
brooded on this till it had become a monomania. He
was in such a state of excitement, that he was deter-
mined to have revenge at whatever cost-the penalty,
the after-suffering counted for nothing.
Stealthily and quietly he again slipped on the
clothes he had just taken off, and, with the knife in
his hand, crept into the next dormitory. The moon-
light was partially obscured at the moment by passing
clouds, but Herbert knew that James Turner's bed
was the last in the room, and stood against the wall.
In less than two minutes he had accomplished 'his
deadly purpose, and, still partly dressed, crept back
into bed. The boy had given one stifled groan, then
all was still as death. None of the boys seemed to
have been aroused, and to Herbert that death-like
stillness was intolerable. He felt that he could not
bear it another minute. However, it did not last long,
for in a few minutes the master, whose custom it was
to go round the dormitories the last thing, came in
on his nightly round. He passed through the room
153







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

in which Herbert lay listening to every sound, into
the next, theii his exclamation of horror, as he saw
a stream of blood trickling down from one of the beds
aroused some of the sleepers. As he held the light
over the still, white face, he concluded immediately
that the boy had broken a blood-vessel, and had
fainted in consequence, and hastened to call Dr.
Mercer, and to obtain the necessary assistance. There
were hurried footsteps and voices, hasty slamming of
doors, then the sound of horses' feet on the gr..''.:
below, by which Herbert knew the doctor was sent
for. He listened to it in a sort of waking dream, as
if it was something in which he had no share. Pre-
sently he heard Dr. Mercer say, "But where is Archer?
he must be told; let some one call him." Then he
turned on his pillow, closed his eyes, and pretended to
be sleeping soundly. He heard his own name called,
first quietly, then louder, and soon some one came up
to his bedside and shook him roughly.
It seems as if nothing can wake you. Get up at
once; the Doctor has sent for you. But you seem to
be ready. Do you always sleep in your clothes ?"
As the boy spoke, Herbert started up, gazing upon
him with eyes that had no expression beyond that of
stupified horror.
Turner-not James Turner ?" he stammered.
"Yes, to be sure. There is something terrible
the matter. Can't you wake up and come to your
senses? Your brother is ill, bleeding to death, or
something of the sort; only I was not to tell you.
So don't peach, only come."
Lionel!" he exclaimed, in a tone of such bitter
anguish, that the boy turned round to say something
to comfort him, but before he could speak Herbert
had fallen back in the bed, apparently senseless.
154







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

Turner stood staring at him for a moment in stu-
pified astonishment. How he must have loved the
brat !" he said, turning away.
Please, sir, Archer's bad; I don't think he can
come," said the boy to the master who had sent him.
But by that time it was discovered that Lionel's
life-blood was welling from a recently-inflicted wound,
and the horror of this discovery prevented every one
from attending to what had been said about Herbert.
Herbert soon recovered from his swoon, though he
felt sick and dizzy. "What did he say ?" he asked,
sitting down wearily at the foot of his bed, for now
the boys were all awake, and talking eagerly. "What
did he say ?" he again asked, irritably.
"It's young Archer-your brother," said a boy,
hesitatingly.
"What ? Can't you speak ?" said Herbert, angrily.
"They said he was dead," replied the boy, in a
hushed and awe-struck voice.
Oh, no, no it's not so bad; you should not say
so," exclaimed several boys at once.
But Herbert did not appear to hear them, but
stood looking before him with a vacant, expressionless
face, then quietly finished dressing himself, and walked
out of the room.
"You should not have told him," said several
boys, reproachfully.
"But he must know, sooner or later; so, what
odds is it ?" said another, philosophically.
No one could deny that, and, in spite of the shock,
some young weary eyes were soon again closed in
sleep.


155








THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.


CHAPTER III.

LIONEL'S state proved to be less serious than had been
anticipated. Though the bleeding had been so profuse
and alarming, the wound was, to a certain extent,
superficial, and the doctor spoke hopefully of his ulti-
mate recovery. It seemed equally impossible either to
remove him, or to allow him to remain in a room With
so many other boys, so they decided upon moving him
in the little iron bed on which he lay into the next
room, which was occupied by one of the masters. The
motion roused him, and, opening his eyes, he looked
round, and feebly called his brother.
"I want Herbert; please send Herbert," he said,
fretfully.
Fetch his brother," said Mr. Chapman, the doctor;
"but he must not talk. I will give him something
quieting, and will see him again in two hours' time.
If the bleeding does not return, he will do."
Mr. Townshend went to look for Herbert in the
next dormitory, but found only an empty bed, and the
other boys sleeping soundly.
"Where is Archer ?" he said, rousing the sleepers
by his quick, sharp tone.
"Don't know, sir. In bed, sir," said half a dozen
drowsy voices.
"Nonsense !" he replied impatiently, "wake up,
some of you; don't you see the bed is empty ? Here,
James Turner, come here into this dormitory. Don't
you know what has become of Archer ?"
"I fancy he went away, sir, as soon as Morley and
Canning told him his brother was dead. Some one
said he did."
Why did you not stop him, and what business
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THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

had they to say such a thing, when it is perfectly
untrue ?"
I said it was no good to tell him," said another
boy, officiously.
I don't believe it would have made any difference,"
said Turner, sullenly, "for he fell down like a shot
when I called him, and told him to go to you. I told
the doctor he was bad, sir; but no one took any
notice."
"Bad! ill do you mean? then why did not you
fetch Mr. Chapman to him before he left ? Where is
he likely to be ? "
Please, sir, I think he is out," said a small boy
from a distant bed, "for he put on his thick boots."
Very much at a loss how to proceed, Mr. Townshend
returned to Dr. Mercer, to tell him of Herbert's dis-
appearance. He was greatly distressed.
"God bless me! What tidings to send to their
poor mother One boy half murdered, and the other
gone! Have you any idea who could have committed
such an atrocious crime ? "
Not the slightest. I believe he must have done
it himself in a fit of despondency. He often looked
quite miserable."
"I believe the other boys were too rough with him,
Townshend-too rough. I told George Heffer when
the boy first came not to let him be bullied-poor lad!
poor lad and the doctor blew his nose repeatedly
and vigorously.
Every one had been so completely occupied in
attending to Lionel, that, as yet, there had been no
time to investigate how the deed had been committed.
It was certainly not accidental," said Mr. Towns-
hend, thoughtfully; "I wonder if any one has found
the instrument that inflicted the wound !"
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THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

Mr. Chapman said it must have been done by a
sharp knife used by a weak and unsteady hand; other-
wise it must have pierced either the lungs or the
heart."
At this moment a knock was heard at the door, and
James Turner hastily entered the room with a small
carving-knife in his hand, the handle of which was
stained with blood.
Where did you find that ? Who had it ?" asked
both the masters at once.
"I found it in Archer's bed, sir, under the pillow."
But you had no business to go near the boy,"
said Dr. I. :. angrily. It is as much as his life is
worth to be disturbed; Mr. Chapman said so."
"I do not mean Lionel Archer, sir, but his brother
-the one who is gone away."
This astounding communication was received in
profound silence. Both were too amazed to speak.
"Herbert Archer ? Impossible! He would never
injure his brother," said Mr. Townshend, at length.
"Did you ever know them fall out ?"
Never," replied the boy readily. He only fell
out with any of us when he thought we teased his
brother."
"Who saw it in Herbert Archer's bed beside your-
self?" asked Dr. Mercer, suspiciously. James Turner
was no favourite with either masters or boys.
Every one in the room, sir; you can ask them."
Of course I can if I please. The whole of this
terrible business is a complete mystery to me, but I do
really believe, both from my own observations and from
what I hear, that your systematic bullying of the little
boys has led to very bad effects. I do not say that
you are to blame in this particular case, but I wish you
nevertheless to remember my caution."
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THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

This was said so gravely and sternly that Turner
looked much subdued, and left the room considerably
crest-fallen.
He had entered it in a kind of triumph with, as
he imagined, a clear proof of Herbert's guilt, and felt
considerably subdued and surprised at the way in which
Dr. Mercer had received his information.
In the meantime every possible search was made in
the neighbourhood for the missing boy. No one had
seen him, and no trace of him had been found, except
a pocket-handkerchief marked with his name, which a
labourer had picked up more than a mile from the
school, and near a deep mill-pool. From the first
there had been a deep unspoken dread in the minds of
many, and the sight of this handkerchief seemed to
give horrible confirmation to it.
"Then it is as I feared," said Dr. Mercer, in a low
voice. The poor boy's head was turned by being told
so suddenly that his brother was dead, and he rushed
away to his own destruction."
"But how do you account for the knife which the
boy says was found in his bed ?" said .' *. Townshend,
doubtfully.
"It is impossible to account for that or anything
else in this strange business. As to the knife, it is
possible some one concealed it there when he saw the
bed was empty."
"But that would imply that one of the boys put
it there, which is too horrible an idea to entertain for
a moment," said Mr. Townshend, with considerable
emotion.
"Yes, indeed, much too horrible," said Dr. Mer-
cer; "but the whole thing is a mystery, and the poor
boy cannot throw any light upon it, for he's at pre-
sent too ill for us to ask him any questions."
159







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

There was a pause, which was broken by Mr.
Townshend's saying, If you wish me to convey the
sad tidings to Mrs. Archer, I must go at once, or I
shall miss the coach at Bangor."
You must bring her back with you, Townshend,
to nurse her boy. He will require constant care and
watching for long, and it is not necessary to say much
of the elder brother. We know nothing about him,
for certain, and let us hope he will b.e back long
before you return."
Mr. Townshend had his own ideas about Herbert's
disappearance, but he said nothing, and hastened
away.
Mrs. Archer was staying with her brother, little
expecting the terrible blow that was awaiting her.
But Mr. Townshend's unexpected appearance at once
suggested some dreadful calamity, and she waited in
breathless suspense for his first words.
He simply told her that Lionel had met with a bad
accident, and that he had come to fetch her, as Dr.
Mercer considered that he would require her care for
some time, and urged the necessity of her returning
with him, immediate and necessary occupation being,
as he thought, the best thing for her. She lost no
time in making her preparations, and in a few hours
they were on their way to Wales. By degrees, and
when she had rallied from the first shock, she began
to inquire into the nature of the accident, and he found
it very difficult to reply to her questions, or to avoid
any mention of Herbert's disappearance, as she was
perpetually recurring to him. He tried to persuade
himself that his absence was only temporary, and that
he would be the first to greet his mother on her
arrival. But the result proved very different to his
anticipations.
160







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.


CHAPTER IV.

WHEN Herbert Archer left the house, and walked out
into the clear moonlight, he felt as if he were walking
in his sleep. He mechanically followed the road with-
out an object; indeed, he seemed to have lost all
perception and all feeling, and as if nerves, heart, and
brain were all paralyzed. Sometimes, when he heard
a footstep in the distance, he would look round
nervously, as if with a dread of being pursued; but
for the most part he walked on quickly and steadily,
with his head bent and his eyes fixed on the ground,
till he found himself at the entrance of the High
Street at Bangor. The mail-coach came clattering
past him, and stopped to change the reeking, foaming
horses at the small inn close by. Herbert stood still
for a moment, and was jostled by the passengers, who
were hurrying in and out of the inn, and the ostlers
who were changing the horses. In five minutes all
were ready to proceed.
Going on, sir ? You must get up and be quick,
then," said the guard to Herbert, apparently ima-
gining that he had been one of the passengers.
Yes," said Herbert, feeling as if a gleam of light
had suddenly penetrated the mistiness of his brain,
and that, by this means, he could be whirled away
from his past life, and leave all the misery of the last
twenty-four hours behind him.
"Up with you, then," said the guard, pushing him
quickly up to the outside of the coach. "No luggage,
I suppose ?" he added, as if puzzled at the boy's
manner.
No," replied Herbert, dreamily.
"Not going on to meet the boat then, I suppose ?"
161







THE STOER OF HERBERT ARCHEE.

said the man who was sitting next him, and eyed him
curiously.
Where ? he asked, as if he scarcely understood
what had been said.
"Where?" returned the man, contemptuously.
" Why, from Holyhead to Dublin, to be sure. Perhaps
you've left your money behind as well as your
luggage? "
No," he said, apparently not offended at the
man's insolent manner, and taking some money out of
his pocket.
"That's enough and to spare," said the guard.
"I thought you had come with us from Chester; if
not, you'll have to pay at Holyhead. The fare is ten
shillings from Bangor."
"Very well," said Herbert.
His companion, having settled that he was a run-
away school-boy, paid no further attention to him, and
the coach rattled on through the early morning till the
different sights and sounds, and the fresh sea-breeze,
showed that they were approaching Holyhead.
As he was descending the steps into the boat, he
was followed closely by an elderly man, who, with a
sailor, was assisting a boy about his own age down the
ladder. The wan, weary face, and the large blue eyes
that looked around so wistfully, produced a sudden
feeling of interest in one that might possibly be as
miserable as himself.
"Let me stay on deck, Uncle Conway," said the
boy, feebly; "I cannot go down into the cabin, it
stifles me."
"I am afraid it will be too cold for you, Conway,
otherwise it might be best."
"Not much fear of cold, sir, now the sun has
risen," said the sailor, who had assisted him into the
162







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

boat. He'll want shade more than anything else
soon. I'll fetch him a mattress on deck; he'll do
there nicely."
Mr. Conway agreed, and his nephew was soon
comfortably settled on a mattress, with a cloak thrown
over him.
"Now, you must have some breakfast," said his
uncle. I will go and order you some, if you do not
mind being left for a few minutes while I have some
myself."
"Let me stay," said Herbert, darting forwards,
and placing 1' i....i on the deck near the sick boy;
"or -iH.!! I see to the breakfast?" he added, hesi-
tatingly, as he met with no response.
Oh, do stay," said Conway Danvers-for that
was the sick boy's name, having been christened after
his uncle, whose heir he was supposed to be. "Do;
I like you to stay."
"Very well; and if they will bring your break-
fast I can give it to you. What is the matter with
you? Are you very ill?"
"I suppose so; at least, Uncle Conway makes a
great fuss, and fidgets me to death if I cough at all.
I wish I could help it," said the boy, fretfully; "but
he won't be with me long. We are only going to
sleep in Dublin, and go on to Liverpool to-morrow to
join the ship."
"What ship? I wish I was going!" exclaimed
Herbert, almost involuntarily. Where are you
going ?"
I am going to meet the Asia,' said Conway,
importantly. "Don't you know? She is one of the
largest frigates in the service, and my uncle is the
captain. He has just been appointed to her; not this
uncle, but Uncle Arthur, who is much jollier to be
163







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

with. He is going to cruise about in the Mediter-
ranean; and Uncle Conway came to Harrow to fetch
me when he heard I was ill, as the doctor said it would
cure me. Ain't you at school ?" he asked, curiously.
Fortunately for Herbert, the arrival of the steward
with coffee and biscuits prevented the necessity of a
reply, and he occupied himself with propping up the
boy with cloaks, and assisting him to drink the coffee
and eat a few of the biscuits which his uncle had sent
up for him.
"Where are you going?" asked Herbert's new
friend. My name is Conway Danvers. I don't
know yours."
"I don't know where I am going exactly," said
Herbert, in a low voice; Dublin, I suppose."
"But where ? I do wish you would come with us,
and then on to Liverpool. Uncle Conway is always
sick, and you could take care of me," he said, with all
the selfishness of invalidism.
"Very well," said Herbert absently, feeling that
he could not concentrate his mind upon anything, and
could only drift down the current of events.
"Will you really ?" said the boy, raising himself
on his elbow, and looking at him steadily; and you
are never sick, you say ?"
"Not now; I used to be."
Where have you been then by sea ?"
From the West Indies to England. We were a
great many weeks at sea."
"Oh then you come from the West Indies. Is
your father there still ?"
"Yes," said Herbert, with a feeling of shame at
the wrong impression his words, though literally true,
must convey.
Then did you come alone, or did your brothers
164







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

and sisters come with you ? Have you any ?" persisted
the boy with the pertinacity with which children ask
questions of one another, and without noticing the ex-
pression of anguish on Herbert's countenance.
I don't know. Oh! why do you torture me ?"
he moaned, throwing himself on his face with a cry of
such intense misery that not only terrified the sick boy
but attracted the attention of some who were pacing
the deck. He was conscious of nothing except a
sudden wish that the boat would sink, and bury him
and his misery beneath the cold, dark waters.
"What's the matter, my lad ? What do you want ?
Cannot we help you ?" said a kind-hearted woman, as
she stooped over him.
Only to be drowned," he wailed in a tone of such
agony that his consoler started back horrified.
"To be sure, he's off his head. He must have
come out of an asylum. What's to be done with him,
sir ? "
"Nothing," said the sick boy imperiously; "leave
him alone; he is coming with us: Uncle Conway will
attend to him."
Well, if that's it, I've no call to mind, but it's a
curious thing,-very."
Finding that there was nothing to be discovered
about the boy, the group that had collected round him
soon dispersed, and Conway and his new friend were
left alone. He turned upon his side, and lay contem-
plating him with an expression on his countenance of
mingled compassion and curiosity. But the former
predominated. It was something quite new to him to
witness so much misery in one nearly as young as him-
self. He so little understood it, his own experience
having been confined to annoyance at the contradictions
and deprivations caused by his illness; but in Herbert's
165







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

utter misery there was something which altogether
passed his comprehension and deepened his interest
in him.
I did not mean to make you unhappy," he said,
tenderly laying his hand on his arm, and trying to
attract his attention. "I am very sorry. Please
don't," he added nervously, really frightened at the
violence of Herbert's tearless sobs, which appeared to
convulse his whole frame.
Please get up before Uncle Conway comes. I
want to ask you something. I want you to come
with me."
"Never!" said Herbert, mastering himself with
a determined effort. Thank you for wishing it, but
I can never be with any one again."
"Why ?" protested the boy. "I wish you would
tell me," but seeing, or fancying he saw, a change
come over Herbert's countenance, he quickly changed
his manner, and kept him engaged in doing little
offices for himself till they were in smoother water,
and Mr. Conway, though still looking the picture of
misery, was able to emerge from the cabin to look after
his nephew.
How are you, my boy? You look all right, and
as if you had escaped sea-sickness. It's a nasty
passage at the best of times-a short chopping sea
which no one can stand. I do wish we had not to go
to Liverpool to-morrow," he said dismally.
I shall get on very well, Uncle Conway," said the
boy, cheerfully.
Perhaps you may, but that is more than I shall,
I expect. However, I suppose it can't be helped, only
terra firm for me, all the world over."
I want to speak to you, uncle," said Conway;
will you stoop down ?"
166







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

After a short conversation, which was carried on
in too low a voice for Herbert to hear, Mr. Conway
turned round to him, saying-
"My nephew says you have nothing particular to
do to-day. If you have not, I should be really thankful
if you could come with us to Dublin, and help us to
embark for Liverpool to-morrow. Of course I would
not put you to any inconvenience or expense," he
added, with some hesitation, for .it was evident that
Herbert was a gentleman's son; only you see," he
continued, taking him aside, and speaking in an
under-tone, "this poor lad's life seems to hang on a
thread, and he is difficult to manage. If I had known
how ill he was, I should never have proposed to bring
him, but, as the doctor said that a sea voyage was
his best chance, I was anxious to send him out with
his uncle."
Herbert was silent, and Mr. Conway looked at him
inquiringly, and with some surprise.
"You see he has taken a fancy to you, and if
you could go to-morrow it will be everything for him."
"I will do as you wish," replied Herbert, at
length, but it would be better not."
"Better not for whom? for you or for him ?"
For everybody," he exclaimed, in a tone of bitter
pain, "I will do, what you tell me, but for mercy's
sake don't talk to me about it."
Mr. Conway began to think, as the woman had
done who spoke to Herbert just before, that there
was something strange about the boy, but he could
not stay to consider about that now. He would risk
almost anything to be able to deposit Conway safely
on board the "Asia." He naturally shrank from the
responsibility of managing a sick boy, and was glad
of any assistance; and as his nephew had taken so
167







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

great a fancy to this strange boy, he would not
allow any doubts respecting him to disturb his
thoughts.
It is all very well," he said to himself, but of
what use could I have been to the boy to-day? He
might have coughed himself to death, and I could
not have stirred a finger to help him, and to-morrow
will be worse! It's always my bad luck to have
things put upon me that I cannot undertake-very
hard lines, very !"
The irritable old gentleman completely forgot that
the plan had been his own after he had heard the
doctor's opinion.
Herbert was disposed to welcome anything that
took his mind off the terrible thoughts that occasionally,
like a black wave, seemed to overwhelm him. He was
more efficient than most boys would have been in a
case of the kind, for, in addition to his natural taste
and sensitiveness, he had been accustomed to illness,
having assisted his mother in nursing his father.
Only once did Mr. Conway betray any distrust of
Herbert, and that was when an officious porter per-
sisted in looking for Herbert's luggage.
"I have none," he repeated, impatiently, over and
over again.
"None!" said Mr. Conway, turning round, and
casting on him a sharp look of inquiry.
None," he replied, doggedly.
"But, God bless me! what can you do then, for
we shall leave Dublin at eleven o'clock to-morrow,
and cannot leave Liverpool till a day or two after we
get there ? What do you mean to do ?"
"Nothing. I never meant to go to Liverpool.
You asked me," he replied, impatiently.
"What is it ?" said Conway. He can have any-
168







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

thing of mine, uncle. Pray don't say any more, or he
won't go at all," he whispered.
Mr. Conway said no more, and assisted his nephew
to rise as the passengers were leaving the boat. He
looked round for Herbert to assist him, but he was
standing listlessly leaning over the side of the vessel,
without attempting to follow.
"There, now! you have prevented his coming,"
said Conway, indignantly; and, stopping short, he
tried to call, but a paroxysm of coughing prevented
him.
All doubts of Herbert vanished before the uncle's
wish of getting Conway safely on shore, and he went
up to him, saying-
"Pray come. I am so afraid of delay for Conway."
"I am quite ready. I did not know what you
wished."
To come with us, of course; and pray tell us by
what name we are to address you," he said, cour-
teously, but with a certain amount of stiffness. I
believe you know ours."
"Henry Arnold," said Herbert, after a minute's
pause; but the name and his own voice sounded
strangely in his ears as he said it.
They proceeded at once to the inn, where rooms
had been ordered, and, by Herbert's persuasion, and
promising to stay with him all day, Conway was in-
duced to go to bed.
Poor Herbert! He was only too glad to be away
from every one, and removed from the sights and
sounds of a large city, and the quiet of Conway's sick
room was in itself soothing to him.
Early the next morning they went on board the
Liverpool boat. The day was so fine that even Mr.
Conway escaped the scourge of sea-sickness, and was
169







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

able to greet his brother cheerfully, who was waiting
on the quay for his arrival.
He urgently dissuaded them from landing, and
proposed to take Conway on board the frigate at once,
which would save him the fatigue of a hurried removal,
as it was uncertain how soon the ship might sail; and
he contended that pure sea air must be better for the
boy to sleep in than a hot, dusty street.
"What do you say, my lad ?" he added, turning
to his nephew.
"I should like to go on board at once, if he may
come too," replied Conway, looking at Herbert.
"Who is he ? Some school-friend of yours, I sup-
pose. He may come till we are fairly off, and then I
can set him ashore. He can have a berth till then.
It's no good to offer you one, Michael, I suppose," he
said, turning to his brother, who was listening to the
arrangement in evident dismay.
"Well, I can't say I appreciate the idea of sleeping
in a cabin," he replied, doubtfully; "but perhaps I
had better see Conway comfortably settled."
Oh, I can do that, sir. I am quite accustomed to
it. I always did it for--" Mamma and Lionel were
the names that were on his lips, but the memories they
recalled quite overcame him., and he turned away with a
sharp pang at his heart and a choking sob in his throat.
We don't want you, Michael," said his brother,
cheerfully; "in fact, we shall get on better without
such a confirmed land-lubber as you are. I must make
a sailor of you, Conway, before I've done. It would
make you strong and well in no time. Your friend
here seems to have a turn for the sea. Are you going
into the navy ?" he said, turning to Herbert.
No-I don't know; I should like it," he replied,
blushing painfully as he spoke.
170






THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

If you have not been trained, I am afraid you
are full old to begin. But now the boat is here. I
must get you on board as soon as may be. I'll send
over for you, Michael, in the morning at ten o'clock.
You'll be at the 'Ship' Hotel, I suppose. Then, if
you can manage to dine on board, you may convince
yourself that Conway is stowed away all right and
comfortable."
Though the captain spoke cheerfully, he was in
reality quite shocked at his nephew's appearance, and
doubted whether he would live through the voyage.
Notwithstanding his bluff manner, he was a tender-
hearted man, and Herbert and Conway soon felt quite
at home with him.
As Herbert lay awake in his hammock that night,
he could not realize that the last three days of his life
had not been spent in a dream. There had been
incessant changes and excitement since he left his bed
and walked alone into the moonlight; but now that all
was still, save the dash of the waves against the ship's
side, the creaking of ropes, and the continued tramp
of the sailor on deck, the past came vividly before
him, and he remembered, with an agony of heart that
was almost physical in its intensity, that he had
murdered his brother-the tender, loving child that
his mother had confided to his care. True, not
intentionally, but still owing to his own fiendish thirst
for vengeance. Oh if he were only dead, lying
beside Lionel in his cold grave! But he had to
endure the 1io--j_1-.- of life and the burden of his
secret, perhaps for years. How could he bear it ?
There came a longing to see his mother once again,
and, burying himself in her lap, to tell her all his
bitter sorrow. As these thoughts pressed upon him,
he could not restrain a moan of such utter despair that
171







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

the captain, who was going into his cabin, heard him
and came to his side.
"What is the matter, my lad ? It's not fit for a
youngster like you to be so miserable," he said, laying
his hand kindly on the boy's head. "It's not being
a day or two on board ship that troubles you, I
suppose ?"
No, oh no said Herbert, in a choked voice.
"I should like never to land again."
"Why ? Have you told my nephew why you are
so unhappy ?"
"No, he does not know; no one knows anything
about it. Pray don't ask me; I don't want to give
any trouble here."
"There is no qi- ti..n of trouble here, except to
yourself," returned Captain Conway, gravely. If you
could trust me sufficiently to tell me your trouble, I
might be able to help you; but, of course, you must
do as you please."
Indeed, I would trust you," said Herbert, sorrow-
fully, "and you are very, very kind. Pray don't think
me ungrateful. I am very glad to be here. I only
wish that I might stay with your nephew, as he
wishes."
Captain Conway hesitated.
"I don't know if that would be possible; and,
besides, your own friends would probably object to
your being carried off to sea without their consent."
Herbert was silent.
"Well! we cannot arrange anything about that
now; only remember, if you want a friend, and like
to come to me, I am ready," he said, kindly holding
out his hand, which Herbert grasped, but could not
trust himself to speak; and the captain walked slowly
into his cabin, wondering what the boy's history could
172







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

possibly be, and half-provoked with himself for the
interest he could not help taking in him.
This feeling increased so strongly during the next
few days, that when some days later the ship received
orders to sail, and all was hurry and confusion on
board, the captain, having observed his nephew's
entire dependence upon him for nursing and com-
panionship, found a moment in which to call Herbert
aside, and say to him-
"We are off, my boy. Will you be set ashore or
stay by the ship ?"
Oh stay, sir," he replied, eagerly, if it can be
managed."
"Well, then, let it be so. I will manage it, but,
remember, it is your own choice."
"I know," said Herbert, gratefully, "and thank
you for allowing it."
Go and tell Conway then; he has been in dread
of losing you ever since he knew we were to sail
to-night."
Herbert gladly obeyed, and in twelve hours the
gallant ship was ploughing her way through the waste
of waters, and in a fortnight the two boys were landed
at Naples.


CHAPTER V.

YEARS have elapsed, and many a summer's sun has
shone on Conway Danvers' lonely grave, sheltered by
grey olives, on the shores of the blue Mediterranean.
He lingered for two years, after joining his family at
Naples, during which time Herbert Archer shared his
home, and by his affectionate attendance on the sick
boy, gained the love and gratitude of his parents.
173







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

They never knew his antecedents, and soon ceased to
speculate about him, so much had be become a part of
the family. The last six months were spent in visiting
various parts of Italy, and it was in a villa not far
from N[ q-i -. that Conway died. Then the solitude
and desolation of his life came vividly before Herbert,
as he felt that he could no longer be an intruder in his
friend's house. But Mr. and Mrs. Conway had long
felt both interest and affection for the boy who had
brightened the dying hours of the son they had lost;
and the former, who was a merchant in Lisbon, offered
Herbert a place in his West India house, an offer which
he thankfully accepted. After awhile he became a
partner in that house, and eventually its sole repre-
sentative. Though he was a rich man, lie was not a
happy one, for the memory of that dreadful night at
Dr. Mercer's clung to him with a tenacity which
nothing could withstand, and prevented any intimacy
with those among whom he lived.
For many years he turned away from the thought
of returning to England. Its green fields and lanes
had but little claim upon his memory or his affections,
but it was his fatherland, the home of his father and
mother, and at times a strong yearning came over him
to know something of his mother, and what had
happened to her since she was left alone in the world.
Lionel, his brother, he did not doubt was dead, and his
name was torture to him still.
Though the West Indies had become his home-
the only one he had known for many years,-he had
grown weary of it-weary of incessant work-weary
of the society-weary, above all, of the trying climate
which had begun to tell upon his health, so that when
the doctors insisted upon his returning to England for
a time, he was not unwilling to follow their advice.
174







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

On his arrival in London he at once sought the
medical man whom he had been recommended to
consult, and by his advice went to Brighton. After
passing a few days at one of the hotels on the West
Cliff, he determined to take lodgings that he might
escape the noise and bustle of a large house, where
visitors were continually coming and going. Day by
day he walked at the same pace, along the same
parade, without an interest of any kind, until his
attention was arrested by a notice upon the door of one
of the churches close by, to the effect that on the
following Sunday a sermon would be preached in behalf
of some religious society, by the Rev. Lionel Archer.
"Rev. Lionel Archer!" he said aloud, as he stood
before the door. Strange most strange But
he passed on, considering in his mind whether he had
ever heard of any of that name besides the one whose
memory was so bitter to him. His mind was suddenly
set in motion. He was haunted by the name, by the
notice, by everything connected with it, and he would
stop and stare at every one that bore the appearance of
a clergyman, but he could not discover anywhere a re-
semblance to any one he had ever seen before. It was
quite possible, of course, that there might be many of
the same name; it was by no means an uncommon
name; but in spite of all he could say he could not lay
the ghost that had suddenly risen up before him.
When the Sunday came on which the sermon was
to be preached, Herbert was among the earliest of the
congregation, and he secured for himself a place where
he could observe the preacher without being seen
himself.
The service seemed to him interminably long, but
when the last hymn was being sung, and the verger
came forward to open the door of the pulpit, Herbert
175






THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

strained his eyes to catch the first sight of the preacher
It would be difficult to say what his feelings were as
he leaned back in his seat, unable to recall a single
feature that was familiar to him. But no one who had
not seen Lionel since he lay on that couch of pain in
Dr. Mercer's house would have recognized him in the
tall, fair, handsome man with a long chesnut beard who
ascended the pulpit that Sunday morning. Did Her-
bert then expect the grave to give up its dead, or had
he ever doubted of his death? Certainly not. It is
impossible to say what was in his mind. The simi-
larity of the name had awakened in him a curiosity for
which he could not account. Scarcely had he leaned
back, and subsided into indfference, when something
in the voice of the preacher arrested his attention. It
was, and it was not, familiar to him. There was a ring
in it-an inflexion-that suddenly brought his mother
to his remembrance. There is a strange power in the
human voice, and there are voices which belong to
families and to races, and Herbert recognized one with
which he was familiar.
When all was over, and the clergyman had left the
pulpit, Herbert sat meditating upon the strangeness
of the event, for it was strange that he of all men
should have been listening to the preaching of one
Lionel Archer. He did not stir till he was reminded
by the verger that the congregation had left, and that
the doors must be shut.
"Do you know that gentleman who preached to-
day ?" asked Herbert indifferently.
No, sir; he is quite a stranger. He only came
down last night, and he leaves to-day."
Where does he come from ?"
"Cannot say, sir. He's quite a stranger here.
Not much of a collection, I'm afraid, sir. You see,
176










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THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

the gentleman wasn't known. Strangers don't
draw."
Herbert walked home, resolving in his own mind
that he would return to London, and make inquiries of
his father's lawyer respecting his mother.
"Is Mr. Nicholls at home ?" he asked of the clerk
who answered his knock.
"Yes, sir; will you walk in? What name shall I
give, sir ?"
Arnold, if you please; and say that I shall not
detain him many minutes."
Herbert was left standing in the hall while the
clerk gave his message. Presently he was ushered
into Mr. Nicholls' presence.
I have just returned from the West Indies, and
have been advised to apply to you for information
respecting Mrs. Archer, whose husband died out there
several years ago."
"Ah yes, to be sure Mrs. Archer, daughter of
Sir Robert Morden, and widow of Colonel Archer, of
the -- Regiment."
I believe so," replied Herbert.
"Exactly Poor lady she has had much trouble,"
and Mr. Nicholls sighed as he thought of his client.
He was a kind-hearted, loquacious old man.
She is living at Stamfield Rectory, near Bosbery,
now, with her son, who is a clergyman, and has recently
been presented to the living by his cousin, Sir George
Morden."
Herbert could scarcely speak in reply, but, mas-
tering himself sufficiently, he said-
"Which son? I understood she had two."
"Yes, exactly, to be sure She had two, but the
eldest died-he was supposed to have drowned him-
self. Ah it's a sad story; but this one is Lionel, the
8 177







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

youngest, and they tell me that he is a very promising
young man."
Thank you," said Herbert, slowly, stooping down
to take up his hat, but failing in the attempt from a
sudden faintness which came over him.
"Allow me, sir," said Mr. Nicholls, as he gave
Herbert his hat; "but, bless me you are not well!
Can I offer you anything ? A glass of wine ?"
"No, I thank you," said Herbert, recovering him-
self. Stamfield, I think you said?"
Yes, sir. If you think of going there, you must
take the train to Bosbery, which is about four miles
from the little village of Stamfield." '
After thanking Mr. Nicholls, Herbert took his
leave, and walked away like one in a dream. Lionel
alive, and his mother living with him, and himself
dead, and supposed to have been drowned !"
When he was alone in his room, the strong man
leaned upon his hand, and sobbed bitterly.
Was it possible that his life had been completely
wrecked upon an imaginary rock, and that all his
young days had been sacrificed to a phantom? He
could not live in such a state of uncertainty, and re-
solved to go to Stamfield.
He was unable to do so as soon as he intended, for
the anxiety and suspense of the last few days had so
affected his nerves that he was at present unable to
leave his room, and it was not till late on Saturday
afternoon that he found himself at the little country
town of Bosbery, and hired a fly to take him on to the
village of Stamfield, having first ascertained that there
was a small inn there, though the flyman said it was
little better than a public."
As soon as he had deposited his bag at the Sara-
cen's Head," and had paid and dismissed the flyman,
178






THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

and had ordered his dinner, for which he said that he
would return in an hour or two, he sauntered down the
village towards a green where some children were play-
ing beneath a large elm-tree. The old church stood
on one side of this green, and Herbert could distin-
guish the gables and tall chimneys of a house near
the church, which he at once concluded to be the
Rectory. As he approached it, a nervous dread came
over him which he could not overcome. He was at
a loss how to proceed, when he heard the sound of the
organ, and children's voices singing. He opened the
wicket and entered the churchyard. The large door
at the entrance was closed and fastened, and he walked
round the church to a small door on the north side,
which he found open. Having entered, he stood lis-
tening to the organ. The dim light (for the windows
were filled with stained glass, and the day was begin-
ning to close in), and the stillness, save of the organ
and the few voices that accompanied it, had a soothing
effect upon his mind, and he sat down listening to the
sound.
The organ ceased, the children came down from the
gallery, and, passing him, left the church. The organist
played a short voluntary, and then all was still, and
Herbert was roused from his reverie by a voice near
him saying, in the softest tones-
"I beg your pardon, but I am afraid I must lock
the door of the church."
He rose up instantly, and left the church.
"Does Mr. Archer live near here?" he inquired
of the organist, as she fastened the door.
Yes, he lives there," she said, pointing to the
house on the other side of the churchyard wall; "just
behind those trees. Do you wish to see him ? I am
his wife, and can give him any message; but perhaps
179







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

you wish to speak to him yourself. I am afraid he is
not at home at this moment," she said, apologetically.
Thank you; I should like to see him; but, as I
shall be here for a day or two, I will not trouble you
with any message."
He bowed to her as he spoke, and they parted.
Herbert stood still, watching her as she entered the
shrubbery that surrounded the Rectory.
"Lionel's wife! Oh, it cannot be!" and then,
again, almost in the same breath, he hoped it might be
as Mr. Nicholls had said.
Herbert lingered near the spot, and peered anxiously
through the trees, in the hope thlit he might catch a
glimpse of his brother; but he waited in vain, and he
returned to the inn disappointed and weary.



CHAPTER VI.
THE following day the bells rung out merrily about
an hour before the time of service, and both old and
young congregated in the churchyard, and around the
porch, to hear and tell the news of the day.
Herbert, not wishing to attract attention, seated
himself in one of the side aisles, where he could com-
mand a good view of the rector's pew, which, being
in the chancel, was raised above all other seats in
the church. He watched the chancel-door anxiously,
knowing that the rector's family would come in that
way. Presently he heard the latch, and then a bright
gleam of light came athwart the church as the door
was opened wide, and an elderly lady, dressed in black,
entered, leaning on the shoulder of a young girl, who
carried her grandmother's prayer-book in her hand.
Herbert looked intensely into that pale careworn face,
180








THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

and could hardly believe it was the mother he had loved
so tenderly, and left so rashly. In Lionel he recog-
nized the preacher at Brighton, but there was so little
resemblance between him and the Lionel of his youth,
that he could scarcely believe that it was he who was
standing there before him. When the service was
over, Herbert watched his mother as she entered the
Rectory garden, and then returned to the church, think-
ing of his desolation, and wondering how and when it
would end.
It was a lovely evening early in June, when every-
thing in nature spoke of hope and gladness. The sun
was shining, and the rector's garden was beginning to
look bright with flowers. On the lawn, immediately
in front of the windows, sat Mrs. Archer in her garden
chair, while two children played on a rug at her feet. A
much younger lady, fair and tall, stood at the garden
gate, shading her eyes with her hand, apparently wait-
ing for some one. As Lionel came from the church,
she walked quietly over the grass to meet him.
Oh, Lionel! I have been waiting till you came
in. I hoped old Sarah would have seen my parasol
which I left in the church, and sent it by you."
I have not seen her. Why did you not send one
of the children ? Here, Mildred, run through that
door, and get mamma's parasol."
Milly darted off, and in less than two minutes had
accomplished her errand. But, as she came down the
church, she was startled by the figure of a tall man
who was leaning against the wall, and, for a moment,
she hesitated to pass him. Herbert, however, advanced
a step, and, holding open the door while she passed,
followed her out of the church.
"Is that the Rectory ?" he said, pointing to the
house.
181








THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

"Yes; that is our house."
I suppose so," he replied, with a smile so sad
and sweet that the child's heart was at once won. I
want to speak to your papa. Can you take me to
him ? "
Oh yes, if you will come with me." And she
slipped her little hand into his; and as she threw open
the garden door, and led him through, he had at once
a full view of the group in front of the house.
Herbert stopped short with a sudden feeling of in-
trusion, but the child, safe on her own territory, was
quite ready to be kind and patronizing, and tried to
lead him on.
There is papa; come on," she said, as Mr. Archer,
looking considerably surprised, advanced to meet them.
There was not the smallest recognition between
the brothers, as Herbert apologized for his intrusion,
and Lionel inquired civilly how he could be of any use
to him.
"I came here," he said, "to deliver a message
with which I have been entrusted. I have lately come
from the West Indies."
Indeed !" said Lionel, in a tone of surprise.
"You lived there once-at least, I believe, your
family did?"
"Yes," he replied, "I was born there, and my
father died there. But do not let me keep you stand-
ing here. Will not you walk in ?" and Lionel led the
way into his study.
Herbert followed slowly, and would not take the
chair that was offered to him. Thank you, I prefer
standing," and, as he spoke, he leaned against the
chimney-piece, with his back to the light, that he
might scan his brother's features, and search for some
look of bygone days.
182







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

Herbert told him that the monuments which had
been erected to the memory of Colonel Archer and his
children had fallen into decay, and that one who had
known and loved both him and Mrs. Archer had had
them repaired, and had undertaken that they should be
always cared for."
"Mrs. Archer is alive ?" he asked.
Yes," said Lionel, and well-at least for her;
but here she comes to answer for herself."
"Mother, this gentleman has been inquiring after
you."
My dear Lionel, I beg your pardon. I thought
you were alone," and she curtseyed to the stranger, as
she supposed him to be. "The children are impatient
for their tea."
"I will come directly, mother," and Lionel pressed
his brother to join their party.
"Thank you; I must return to the inn."
You are not staying there, surely I am afraid
you must be very uncomfortable."
"Travellers, like myself, who have wandered about
so much over the world are easily contented. I have
often fared worse." And before Lionel had time to
reply, he was gone.
Herbert did not dare trust himself to look again at
his mother, fearing that he should utterly break down.
He had no doubt now left upon his mind. There was
the same face that had been all in all to him in child-
hood and boyhood, though now bearing the impress
of long and patient sorrow; the same voice whose
gentle accents had been powerful to soothe his wildest
paroxysms of passion. He would have recognized
her at the farthest ends of the earth, so vividly had
her memory been impressed upon his heart; but she
had not remembered him, and the son she had once,
183







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

as Herbert used proudly to believe, loved above all
earthly things, had dropped out of her life and been
effaced from her recollection. She was now happy in
Lionel's prosperity. Why should he recall painful
scenes to her mind, by bringing back sad and bitter
memories that had been buried in the past ? She had
grown old without him, and now Lionel's children filled
up every interest in her life. He had satisfied himself
that he was guiltless of the crime that had taken all
the sweetness out of his life, and in that knowledge he
could rest, and be, as hitherto, a lonely and solitary
man; for his guilty purpose of revenge against James
Turner still remained a fact, for which a life-long
repentance could scarcely atone.
All these thoughts passed through his mind as he
walked rapidly away from the house that might have
been a home to him. On and on he walked, past the
quiet church, through the churchyard, into the fields
beyond, till he came to a small coppice. The shade of
the trees looked cool and inviting to his weary spirit,
and, penetrating into the depths of the wood, he threw
himself upon the turf, and, in the bitterness of his
spirit, indulged in long and painful musings.
He did not consider the injustice of his morbid and
wounded frame of mind. He forgot how completely
he was changed, and that his death had been so) 1.noug
impressed on his mother's mind as a certainty, that
it was almost impossible for her to recognize him.
Meanwhile he had left a troubled feeling in the kindly
hearts that he had so abruptly quitted. They imagined
that, poor and sensitive, something inadvertently said
or done had wounded him, and Mrs. Archer re-
proached herself for having interrupted their conver-
sation, especially when Mildred looked disappointed
that the stranger had not come to tea. Lionel pro-
184







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

mised to call upon him the next day, for he had felt an
indefinable attraction towards him, and as the visit of
any stranger in that secluded village was an event,
there were many speculations about him during the
evening.
For some time Herbert remained absorbed in
gloomy thought. Circumstances had greatly changed
his naturally passionate and impulsive character; they
had given it force and concentration; and now the
view he took of his position was harsh and almost
stern. His determination to leave England without
making his existence known to any one, grew gradually
stronger, and he rose up from the turf upon which he
had been lying, firm in his resolve.
He wandered carelessly and listlessly about the
wood. Where should he go? There was no longer
any purpose in his life. England would henceforth be
hateful to him. Why had he ever come? In the
West Indies he had had constant necessary occu-
pation, which had prevented his dwelling exclusively
upon the isolation of his lonely life. But now the
object for which he had worked was accomplished-he
was wealthy; but he had not that which he desired
and craved for more than all-sympathy and com-
panionship. From a friend to trust-a true heart
upon which he could rely-he was as far removed as
ever. The dreariness of his future came vividly before
him, and as he looked on to the long lonely years
that seemed to unroll themselves before his eyes, the
bitterness and tension of his spirit gave way, and a
deep sadness took possession of him. The soft dew
of evening-for, by this time,
Twilight grey
Had in her sober livery all things clad,-
fell soothingly upon him. He had always been emi-
185







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

nently susceptible to external influences, and there was
a holy calm in the deep hush of nature which produced
in his mind a conviction of the transitory nature of all
earthly things; and as he watched star after star rise
and light up the deep purple sky, they seemed to
speak of peace and love, and to reproach him in their
quiet harmony for the tumult and jarring discord that
pervaded his own mind.
As he crossed the fields which led into the church-
yard, he saw a figure leaning against the stile over
which he had to pass. He paused for a moment,
unwilling to face any one in his present mood, but
again walked on as he observed that the man turned
back into the churchyard. Herbert came suddenly
upon him as he was leaning over the wall, looking
apparently at the flood of moonlight crowning the
dark woods with silver, and throwing fantastic shadows
on the plain below. He would have passed quickly
by, but the man turned round to meet him, and he
saw it was his brother.
"I am glad to have met you," said Lionel. I
went to the inn to inquire for you, but you were not
there. I am afraid you are not in very comfortable
quarters, but such a night as this makes one unwilling
to remain in-doors."
Herbert did not reply, and Lionel continued-
"You went away so suddenly, that you did not
give us time to offer you any hospitality."
"Leo said Herbert, moved by a sudden and
irresistible impulse, and laying his hand upon his
brother's arm, "you don't know me! How should
you ?"
It was the old familiar name, which no one had
ever called him but Herbert, that instantly recalled
him to his recollection.
186








THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

"Who are you ?" he exclaimed, starting back.
" Speak for God's sake, speak Can the dead come
to life again? You are not you cannot be,
Herbert! "
"I am," he replied, sadly; "but I should have
done better, perhaps, not to have made myself known
to you, for I see that you are well and happy. I have
no right to wish for more. Even my mother has
forgotten me," he added, bitterly, and his voice
faltered as he spoke.
"Forgotten you!" exclaimed Lionel; "never!
There is not a day, I dare say not an hour, that she
does not think of you. She has never given up the
hope of seeing you again, much as we have tried to
impress upon her the certainty of your death, for this
hoping against hope seemed to be destroying her very
life."
As Lionel recovered his self-possession, a doubt of
Herbert's identity crossed his mind. He could not
understand why his brother should have concealed the
fact of his existence for so many years. It seemed
improbable to the last degree, and yet who but Herbert
ever called him Leo ?
Herbert's quick sensitiveness immediately detected
what was passing in his brother's mind.
"You doubt my identity," he said, coldly. I am
not surprised. It would be easy to prove it; but why
should I raise up ghosts of the dead past, and recall
so much that can only be painful ? Only one thing
you must hear before I leave you-probably for ever.
Nay," he said, as Lionel attempted to remonstrate,
"you must hear me, and you must believe that I
never injured you intentionally; that, wicked as my
act was, it arose from my deep affection for you, and a
desire to avenge your wrongs."
187







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

"I always said so; I knew it. Dear Herbert,
why do you talk of leaving us again? How could I
recognize you, changed as you are? Forgive me if I
have pained you."
It is best," replied Herbert, gloomily. "At this
moment you mistrust me. I have been well seasoned
to my lonely life. It will be no worse than what I
have borne for years."
"But you must not-you shall not, be lonely ever
again. Why have you let us mourn for you as dead
for so many years ? Come home with me, and let the
sight of our mother's happiness convince you that you
have never been for a moment forgotten;" and Lionel
took his brother's arm, and tried to lead him towards
the house.
But Herbert shrank back. Not now-indeed, I
cannot. Do not ask me. Perhaps to-morrow. Now
I must return to the inn."
"I will not urge you to come to-night," said
Lionel, for possibly the agitation might do my
mother permanent harm; but I am quite determined
not to leave you unless you give me your solemn
promise that you will see her to-morrow, and not leave
this place till you have done so. I cannot imagine,"
he said, with deep feeling, that you could be guilty
of such cruelty, even to myself, as to give me such a
glimpse of happiness, and then vanish from our sight."
Then you really care for me still, Leo ? replied
Herbert, with a quivering lip ; "it is more than I
dared to expect."
Care for you, Herbert! No one has ever taken
your place in my heart for a moment," said Lionel, so
earnestly, that his brother felt convinced of the truth
of his words.
"I will stay," he said; "I give you my word;"
188







r -~
THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

and, with a silent and warm pressure of hands, the
brothers parted.
Lionel found his wife the one person still up, won-
dering at his long absence.
"Where have you been, Lionel? Something is
wrong," she exclaimed, as she noticed the expression
of his countenance, which bore traces of his recent
agitation. "What is it ? "
"Nothing wrong, Clarice; on the contrary, happy
and blessed-greater happiness than I ever expected.
Herbert is living !"
"The brother that--your elder brother," she
added, quickly, not feeling sure that the return of one
of whom she had heard such a dreadful story was an
unmixed blessing.
"Yes, here, alive and well. Oh, Clarice, I cannot
yet believe it "
You have seen him, then? Was it the stranger
in the church-the gentleman that came here ?" she
inquired, eagerly. How very strange "
Lionel and his wife sat up for hours talking over
the past, and discussing how best to break the intelli-
gence to Mrs. Archer. It was finally settled that Mrs.
Archer should not be told until Herbert was actually
in the house. The suspense would be more than she
could bear," said Lionel.
The following morning, after the breakfast things
had been removed, Mrs. Archer sat in her favourite
seat at the window, with her knitting and a few books
on a small table by her side. She heard the garden-
door shut, and, on looking up, saw the stranger of
yesterday coming towards the house.
"Lionel," she said, here is that gentleman
again."
Lionel started up and left the room. He went
189







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

forward to meet his brother, and .took him into his
study.
I have been waiting for you," he.said. i would
not tell my mother till you were here. I was afraid of
the consequences of any suspense for her. If you
will wait here, I will come back immediately. You
had rather be alone, I am sure, else Clarice would
like to come and welcome you. She knows it
all."
Thank you, Lionel! I had rather not meet any-
one till I have seen my mother."
Lionel left the room, and, finding his mother alone,
he went up to her and said, as he took her hand,
" Dear mother, you must promise me to be calm, and
prepare to hear something you little expect. The
gentleman who is here has just come from the West
Indies, and he has brought a message---"
A message impossible I know no one there."
"It is a message from one we have all known,
and loved, and mourned as dead a message from
Herbert."
Herbert! then he is still living. I knew he was.
Oh, Lionel, tell me all," and Mrs. Archer turned very
pale, and trembled exceedingly.
You promised to be calm," said Lionel, tenderly
pressing the hand he still held; but his mother could
not control her agitation, and, clasping her hands,
looked imploringly in his face.
Lionel did not dare to prolong her suspense, and
said, Could you bear to see him, dear mother, if he
were here ?"
Bear to see him Oh, Lionel, is he here ? Tell
me; you should not trifle with me," and she spoke
almost harshly, as she pressed both hands to her heart,
and rose up from her seat. Lionel led her to a chair
190






THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

near the fire-place, and said, I would not trifle with
you; I am only anxious for you."
He left the room, and, beckoning Herbert out of
the study, pointed to the door of the room in which
Mrs. Archer sat, which he closed as his brother entered.
In an instant Herbert threw himself on his knees
before his mother, exclaiming, Mother, can you for-
give me ?"
Who and what are you ?" she said. Good
God can this be Herbert ?"
Herbert clasped his mother to his heart, and that
long, passionate embrace seemed to efface the years of
separation, and they were, as in old times, mother
and child again.
As he knelt at his mother's feet, with her hands
resting on his shoulder, he told her in a few words the
story of his life: how he had determined to avenge
his brother's cruel wrongs, and, by some fatal mistake,
injured him instead of his tormentor; how he was told
that Lionel was dead, and, almost mad with horror,
left the school; how he had found friends to whom
he owed all his success in life, but that even momen-
tary happiness had been poisoned by the memory of
his guilt and remorse for his brother's death; and how
he had, never ceased to yearn after her whom he had
loved more than any earthly thing.
After a considerable time, Lionel returned, and
found his brother still kneeling at his mother's feet.
Take me upstairs, Lionel," she said faintly,
turning to him. This unlooked-for blessing seems
more than I can bear. God bless you, dear Herbert" '"
she said, as she laid her hand upon his head, "you
must never leave me again. I shall find you here
when I come back ?" she asked, anxiously.
"Yes, dear mother; where you are there will I
191







THE STORY OF HERBERT ARCHER.

ever be," he said, slowly, as if he were registering the
vow in heaven.
Herbert remained alone. ile stood for some
minutes transfixed to the spot, as if stunned by the
intensity of his happiness. Presently the door opened,
and a slight, graceful figure came up to him.
"You must let me come in and welcome you
home," said Clarice, taking his hand. "You do not
know how happy Lionel is. You will try and care for
me a little, stranger as I am, that I may be happy
too," she added, coaxingly.
Herbert kissed the hand he held, saying-
Not quite a stranger; you were the first person
that greeted me when I came here, and I loved you
then for your soft and gentle manner. I am only now
anxious about my mother," he said. You don't think
this agitation is likely to do her real harm ? "
No," replied Clarice, brightly. "I have a great
faith in happiness. I believe it will do her real good,
and prolong her life."
Herbert remained at the Rectory, and was the
delight and comfort of every one. Beneath his quiet
and reserved manner there was such deep and great
happiness in his heart, that its influence was universally
felt; and but one feeling pervaded all, which deepened
and strengthened as years went on-a feeling of
gratitude that the lost one had been found.









102



























THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.




CHAPTER I.

HEN King Henry II. sailed to invade and
conquer Ireland, there went with him to
be his standard-bearer, a gentleman from
a place called Wollesleigh, in Somerset-
shire. After the fighting was over, and the country
subjugated, this gentleman was rewarded for the
courage he had shown in the king's service, and large
estates were given to him in the counties of Meath and
Kildare. There he settled, and defended himself
bravely against all comers, and his family did the
B








THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

same after him for about six hundred years, keeping
firm possession of the lands. On one of the estates in
the county of Meath, there was a stronghold known
as Dangan Castle, about twenty-five miles from Dublin,
and here the descendants of the old Somersetshire
standard-bearer took up their abode when it pleased
them, until about the year 1730, when Garret Wesley,
as he was named, was the only one left.
Garret Wesley had no children, and as most people
feel pleasure in having something to love, he and his
wife resolved to adopt a boy, who should be to them
as their own son. There was a youth named Charles
Wesley, then pursuing his studies in Westminster
School at their expense, and Garret invited him to go
over to Ireland, and be his adopted son, and the heir
to his estates. It was a generous offer, but the youth
declined it. This young student was the brother of
the celebrated John Wesley, the founder of the sect
called Methodists; and it is probable that had he
become the owner of Dangan Castle, the career of the
two would have been very different to that which is
now recorded in the interesting history of their lives.
Garret Wesley then adopted a young man who was
a relative of his wife's. Some years afterwards the
estates had passed to this young man's son-who
became Baron Mornington. He had a family of sons
and daughters, some of whom died young, others lived
to full years, and to reach high honours. Among
them was the fourth son, Arthur, who was born at the
end of April, 1769-and it is of him that the present
story is told. It is a fact worth remembering, that the
famous Napoleon Buonaparte was born a few months
later in the same year, in the island of Corsica.
Childhood is an interesting period to look back
upon. It is interesting to trace the growth of mind







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

and character from small beginnings; and sometimes
we see glimpses of the genius, or the greatness that is
to come in after years. But we know scarcely any-
thing of the childhood of Arthur Wesley. We are
sure that he must have had his joys and sorrows in
common with other children; that he learned to walk
and talk as others do; and that reading and spelling,
with all their pains, pleasures, and penalties, came
afterwards, and proved to him while he was still young,
that whatever is worth having is not to be obtained
without labour and perseverance. He would know
how to enjoy his holidays, amusing himself in various
ways in the grounds around the castle, perhaps looking
up at the time-worn walls which had stood since the
days of the great Earl Strongbow, or seated on the
topmost tower, thinking on its history, and gazing
over the landscape of green fields and brown moorland,
that lay beneath, and stretched far away to the distant
hills. Perhaps he may have wondered what his future
life would be, as many a school-boy has done when
lying on the grass on a summer's afternoon; and no
doubt, he found as he grew up, that the reality was
very different from the fancy. But there is something
that never changes, and that is a true principle-the
desire to do always what is best, and speak only what is
truest, under all circumstances. Such a principle is
true and right for all time: it cannot alter; and he
who takes it up as a duty and cherishes it through life,
will find it grow with his growth, and strengthen with
his strength, and be to him a power of overcoming
difficulties. And though at the outset the path of
duty may seem dull and rugged, and wearying to walk
in; yet he who follows it without turning aside, will
find it in time leading onwards into pleasant regions,
where in his old age he may sit down in sunshiny
B







THE STORY OP WELLINGTON.

places, and enjoy the reward which singleness of pur.
pose never fails to secure.
When Arthur was twelve years old, his father, the
Earl of Mornington, died, leaving a widow and family
in not the best of circumstances. One of the wisest
things that can be done for children, is to give them a
good education; and Arthur was sent with one of his
brothers to the famous school or college at Eton,
where many of England's greatest men have passed a
portion of their youthful days. He did not, as some
do, make a great figure in his class, or show himself
clever in his studies; neither was he particularly re-
markable for activity in the playground, being rather
slow in manner, and not much of a talker. Many
persons would have called him a dull boy, who had but
little to say for himself. Whether he had any real
capabilities in him or not we shall see as we go on.
After leaving Eton, Arthur went through a short
course of private tuition at Brighton, and from there
he was sent to a military school at Angers in France,
as he wished to be a soldier. It was common at that
time for young men to go abroad to study the art of
war, as there were no good academies for that purpose
in England. Angers is a fine old town, on the road
between Tours and Nantes; it has some connection
with English history, for its walls were built by King
John; and Shakespeare mentions it in one of his plays.
It was here that Arthur pursued his studies under Pig-
nerol, the director of the school, and one of the best
military engineers on the continent.. Here, besides
getting a thorough knowledge of French, he learned
how to build fortifications, how they were to be
defended and attacked, and many other matters neces-
sary to be known to those who have to carry on a war.
They must know when to advance, and when to retreat







THE STORY OP WELLINGTON.

and when to strike a blow at the enemy with the best
chances of success; and for all this, many branches of
learning have to be studied. Young Buonaparte was
at a military school at the same time in another part
of France.
At the age of eighteen, Wesley left the school
at Angers, and returned to England, if not with a
reputation for cleverness, he had at all events a mind
well stored with knowledge, and he had proved that
he could work diligently at whatever work his duty
called him to undertake. It is a quality on which suc-
cess in life greatly depends. He at once entered the
army, and by the influence of his family connections,
obtained an ensign's commission in the 73rd regiment,
and soon after rose to the rank of lieutenant, and from
that to captain. He no longer called himself Arthur
Wesley, but Wellesley, a name similar to that of the
old estate in Somersetshire, and by that name he wiB
now appear as our story goes on.
In 1790, Arthur Wellesley was called on to under-
take the duties of a legislator as well as a soldier, for
he was elected member for the town of Trim, which
is but a few miles from Dangan Castle, and he took his
seat in the parliament then sitting at Dublin. At that
time Ireland had a parliament of its own which assem-
bled until the Act of Union with England was passed in
1800. Young Wellesley was not a great or frequent
orator, but when he did speak, his remarks were full
of good sense, and to the purpose. His words had
some useful application in them, and were not mere
idle talk. In one respect, however, his actions and his
prudent councils did not correspond, for he got deeply
into debt, as almost every one else did who then lived in
Ireland. He lodged in the house of a bootmaker, who
helped him out of his difficulties, and Wellesley took
B3








THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

care that the worthy tradesman was repaid every
farthing that he had lent, and remained his friend
through life.
The time had now come when Arthur Wellesley
was to draw his sword on active service, to test his
courage and ability in actual war. England and
Europe were then in a very different condition to what
they are now. We had but very few schools for the
people, no mechanics' institutes, no public libraries,
no public parks or gardens for the instruction and
recreation of the lower classes, who were in a state
of brutal ignorance, and were ready to commit any
outrages, as was shown by the riotous and destructive
proceedings of the mobs in London in 1780, in what
are called the Lord George Gordon riots. Many
people then alive remembered the incursion of the
Scottish Highlanders under the young Pretender, and
their daring attempt to overturn the British Govern-
ment. The long American war, which ended in the
independence of the United States, was fresh in every
body's mind; while on the continent those outbreaks
were beginning to be felt, which ended in the terrible
French Revolution.
War was declared against France in 1793, and the
Duke of York was sent with an army of ten thousand
men to the Netherlands to oppose the French troops
who were conquering all before them. Meantime
Wellesley had risen to the rank of Lieutenant-Colonel,
and in 1794, he went over to join the British forces in
command of the 33rd regiment; he was then not
more than twenty-six years of age. The army was,
however, too weak to resist the French; the wants of
the soldiers had been shamefully neglected, they were
often without food and clothing, and could seldom get
medical :l tendance when they were sick, and had to







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

endure severe privations, all of which was owing to the
dishonesty of the persons who had charge of the com-
missariat, as the supplying of food and other necessaries
is called. The men had to fight hard and live hard,
and were driven from town to town by the enemy
without being able to make a successful stand. In
a retreat, the rear-guard is considered the post of
honour, and the command of this was given to Lieu-
tenant-Colonel Wellesley. He conducted the opera-
tions with care and prudence, but showed none of that
genius and skill which afterwards distinguished him.
It was in Belgium that he thus learnt his first lesson
of actual war, and it was in the same country that his
last and greatest battle was fought.
The French troops swept all before them; the
English retreated into Holland, and from thence into
Westphalia, where they were supported by the Prussians.
The winter came on, and in January, 1795, while the
soldiers were on their march, the miseries they had to
endure were enough to shake the stoutest heart.
.Many perished from cold and hunger, the snow was so
deep that the roads were impassable, the baggage was
abandoned, and the sick and wounded were left to
perish.
Such are the evils produced by war; it leaves dis-
tress and devastation behind it, and the peaceful have
to suffer for the faults or ambition of the turbulent.
The disastrous campaign was, however, an impressive
lesson for Wellesley; while fulfilling his duty as com-
mander of the rear-guard, keeping the enemy in
check, he could not fail to note the faults committed
by his superiors in command, as well as the defects in
the discipline of the army, and so he gained ex-
perience that was to be turned to good account in
after years.







THE STORY O WELLINGTON.

We now see that the life before us is one altogether
of a public character; there is nothing about poverty
at home, and struggles with early difficulties in the
pursuit of knowledge, nothing about joys and sorrows
in the family circle. We have to see how a man rose
to greatness by overcoming difficulties of another
character, how his energies were devoted not merely
to the maintenance of a household, but to the defence
of a whole nation, and how, amidst his greatest
triumphs, he was never led aside from the path of
duty.







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.


CHAPTER II.

IT was with a regiment shattered and weakened that
Lieutenant-Colonel Wellesley returned to England in
1795; he, however, soon raised it again to its full num-
bers, and was ready for active service. He had not
long to wait, for in the autumn the 33rd had orders to
embark for the West Indies. The weather, however,
proved so stormy, that, after being six weeks at sea,
the fleet was obliged to put back to port. To this
misadventure, as it then seemed, Arthur Wellesley
doubtless owed much of his subsequent fame; for his
regiment was afterwards ordered to the East Indies,
in which country his great military talents were first
displayed. The troops sailed in April, 1796; Welles-
ley was detained by illness, but he overtook them at
the Cape of Good Hope, and landed at Calcutta in
February, 1797, with the rank of Colonel. Imme-
diately, he found employment in active duties, for
there was stirring work to be done.
At that time England had possession of but a
small part of her present vast Indian Empire. Forty
years earlier, the English had trembled in presence of
the Mogul ruler, and a number of them had perished
miserably in the Black Hole at Calcutta. Clive had,
however, made the British name feared by his famous
victory at Plassey. But, at the time of Wellesley's
arrival, the native chiefs were plotting to drive the
English out of India; they had largo and powerful
armies, and many French officers had entered their
service. Among the most deadly of our foes were the
large and warlike tribe of the Mahrattas, and Tippoo
Saib, the ruler of the Mysore district. The latter
was a man of the most vindictive disposition; and he







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

used to boast that he would rather live two years as a
tiger than two hundred as a sheep.
Colonel Wellesley lost no time in getting his men
into proper discipline, well equipped, and provided
with all necessaries, so as to be ready for service when-
ever called on. He gained great praise for his suc-
cessful exertions in this respect. The army consisted
of about 50,000 men, of whom only one-fourth were
British; the others were Sepoys, as the native Indian
troops are called.
General Harris had the command of the army,
which waited for some time, watching the turn of
events, and guarding the English territory from in-
vaders. At length, in February, 1799, an advance
was made upon the Mysore, to compel Tippoo Saib to
keep the treaty which he had made two years before.
Tippoo's army numbered about 76,000 men; among
them were several troops called the tiger guards,
from their great strength and cruelty, and they be-
1:oved themselves unconquerable.
The country was so rough and wild that on some
days the army <- -.o I not march more than six miles.
They struggled on, however, for three weeks, and were
within thirty miles of Seringapatam, the capital of the
district, when Tippoo met them with his troops. He
directed all his strength against the European ranks,
and sent a column of his finest guards against Colonel
Wellesley's regiment. They came on, thinking to
sweep all before them, and gain an easy victory; but
the English stood firm, and met the foe with such a
terrible fire of musketry, that they halted, turned
round, and fled, sharply pursued by the British cavalry.
Tippoo fell back, burning the villages and destroying
the crops in his way, to deprive the pursuers of all
means of support. General Harris, however, led them








THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

by a different road, where they found plenty of provi-
sions; and on the 2nd of April they came in sight of
Seringapatam.
Tippoo had surrounded the city with such strong
ramparts, that he believed it to be impregnable. The
first work of the British, after their arrival, was to
take possession of a wood that lay between their camp
and the walls. Colonel Wellesley was appointed to
the task. He set out with his men after nightfall;
but, owing to mistakes made in the darkness, he failed.
It was his only failure. As soon as morning came,
and the troops could see their way, he drove the enemy
from the wood, and kept possession of it. The siege
of the city was then pushed forward with vigour,
while Tippoo sat smiling in his palace, believing him-
self perfectly safe. The difficulties, however, were
great; the camp was very unhealthy, the troops suf-
"fered much from sickness and want of food, and every
day it was feared that the rising of the river Cauvery
would flood the whole country. The situation became
so serious after three weeks, that General Harris said,
"We must take the city, or perish in the attempt."
Arrangements were therefore made to storm the
place; and, on the 4th of 31. the troops advanced
from the trenches to the foot of the walls, where a
breach had been made by a heavy cannonade. Every
foot of the ground was hotly disputed; Tippoo's sol-
diers fought with the greatest desperation, and a
terrific storm of balls, bullets, and stones was poured
from the top of the ramparts on the heads of the be-
siegers. Slowly, however, but resolutely, the English
climbed up the breach; they planted the British flag
on the top of the walls, cut down all before them, and
the city was won. Tippoo would not believe the
reports of his loss, and, mounting his horse, rode out








THE STORY OP WELLINGTON.

to witness the strife; when, having approached a gate-
way where the fight was still raging, the diamonds on
his turban betrayed his rank; he was struck down,
and lost his life and his kingdom together.
Colonel Wellesley was appointed to keep order in
the city-a task little less difficult than that of cap-
turing it; but he took his measures with so much
judgment and firmness, that the place was restored to
some degree of tranquillity; and the advice which he
gave on the conduct of affairs was so good, that he


















territory. It was a high and responsible position for a
industry, combined with good sense, seldom fail to














put down a daring adventurer, named _hoondiah. It
,'was no uncommon thi at tt te in I-


was for a time appointed Commander-in-chief of tho
British forces in the Mysore, and governor of the
territory. It was a high and responsible position for a
man not more than thirty years of age ; and in it we
have another illustration of the truth, that ability and
industry, combined with good sense, seldom fail to
make their way in the world.
Soon, however, he was again called to the field, to
put down a daring adventurer, named Dhoondiah. It
was no uncommon thing at that time in India, for







THE STORY OF WELLMNGTON.

gangs of desperate men to put themselves under a
leader, who, after a while, grew strong enough, by
plunder and pillage, to attack the chief of some pro-
vince, and seize it for himself. Hyder Ali, the father
of Tippoo Saib, was one of these. He had been a
common soldier, but rose, by dint of fighting and
ferocity, to be master of a kingdom. In like manner,
Dhoondiah, who had been a freebooter for many years,
collected the stragglers of Tippoo's army, and took
the field against the English. Colonel Wellesley was
sent in pursuit of him, and for two months was pur-
suing him through the district called the Dooab, with-
out being able to overtake his nimble adversary. At
last, on the 10th of September, 1800, he came up with
" The King of the Two Worlds," as Dhoondiah used
to call himself. I charged them," he wrote in his
despatches, "with the 19th and 25th dragoons, and
the 1st and 2nd regiments of cavalry; and drove them
before me till they dispersed, and were scattered over
the face of the country. I then returned and attacked
the royal camp, and got possession of elephants, camels,
and baggage, which were still upon the ground."
Dhoondiah himself was killed. His favourite son,
about four years old, was found among the baggage,
and, being taken care of, he grew up in the English
service. When Colonel Wellesley had lived to be a
grey-headed old man, he was one day at a Diorama in
London, where this scene was exhibited:-" Oh, I
remember all about that," he said, suddenly; "they
ran after my horse with the child. He was brought
up in the camp, and got a commission; but he was
spoilt by the officers, and turned out a great vaga-
bond."
But now the Mahrattas began to be insolent and
troublesome. It seemed of no use making treaties







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

with Asiatics, for they would never keep them; and
nothing but the strong arm would hold them to their
word. They were naturally jealous of the advantages
gained by the British; their army was large, com-
manded by Perron, a Frenchman, under whom they
had raised themselves to a high pitch of military disci-
pline; and they thought the time was come for a suc-
cessful outbreak. Wellesley had to give up his post
in the Mysore, where his good management for a year
and a half had gained him the respect even of the
natives; they had found more liberty and justice under
a British ruler than under their own chiefs. He was
promoted to the rank of Major-General, and ordered
to march with a body of troops against the Mahrattas,
who occupied the country between Delhi and Poonab,
in April, 1802. The expedition was successful, and
one of the chiefs, friendly to the English, was restored
to power in the latter city.
The tribes, however, continued turbulent, and were
encountered by British troops in other parts of the
Indian territory; but, as our story relates to Welling-
ton, we shall confine ourselves to the narrative of his
operations. In June, 1803, he was empowered to
direct and control all the political and military L' '! ,
of the British in the Mahratta States, and when it
was found that the chiefs were league with the French
to annoy the English, he resolved to march once more
against them. This was in August, 1803, and here
lhe showed that foresight and ability which afterwards
so greatly distinguished him; for he drew up instruc-
tions for the preparation of boats, bridges, and pon-
toons, for the crossing of rivers, for the transport of
baggage, and for the safety and defence of the troops.
He left nothing to chance. A good beginning is the
surest road to success. The consequence was that the







THE STORY OF WhLINGTON.

General advanced rapidly with his men. There were
strong forts scattered about the country; but he would
not stop to besiege them, and had them taken by
assault with but little loss of time. This activity so
astonished one of the Mahratta chiefs, that he wrote
to his friend, "These English are a strange people,
and their General a wonderful man. They came in
here this morning, looked at the wall, walked over it,
killed all the garrison, and returned to breakfast.
Who can withstand them ?"
On the 23rd of September, General Wellesley came
up with the whole Mahratta army, numbering 50,000
horse and foot, with 100 pieces of cannon, posted in
a position, strongly fortified, close to the village of
Assaye. Part of his troops were marching by another
route, and all he had with him were but 4500 men,
and about a dozen small cannon but he did not hesi-
tate to give battle, although the enemy were ten times
the number. His 1600 cavalry appeared but a hand-
ful in comparison with the 30,000 Mahratta horsemen;
he, however, posted his ranks -1:ii.Fill, and the fight
began. The murderous artillery of the natives soon
silenced the English guns, while their squadrons of
horse, galloping over the field, Irade terrible havoc of
all that opposed them. It seemed impossible to stand
against such numbers; but General Wellesley, order-
ing his troops to charge, bore down with a steady
front on the M1.11., t .-. They heeded not the firing
of the hundred cannon; for, marching right up to
them with fixed bayonets, they killed or drove away
the gunners, while the Ei1I-!, cavalry, making a
furious onset, struck such terror into the Mahrattas
that they began to waver. At that moment, a regi-
ment that had been kept in reserve was ordered up,
and their gallant charge decided the day. The mighty







THE STORY OP WELLINGTON.

Mahratta army fled in all directions; the British
gained the victory, and Wellesley won his first great
battle. Two horses were killed under him, but he
escaped unhurt.
This success, and the operations by which it was
followed, finally led to the complete subjugation of the
Mahratta territory. General Wellesley's services were
acknowledged in many quarters. The British inha-
bitants of Calcutta voted him a sword worth a thousand
guineas; the army officers gave him a handsome ser-
vice of plate; fetes and addresses were prepared for
him in the chief cities of the Indian provinces; he was
made a Knight Companion of the Bath, and received
the thanks of King George III. and the Parliament.
However flattering these rewards and encouragements
might be, they did not make General Wellesley forget
his duties, nor that, without the brave spirit of En-
glishmen to second him, his efforts would have failed
of success.
He returned to England in September, 1805; but
he found that great changes had taken place in Europe
during his absence. Buonaparte, who was an artillery
officer of the French army when he went away, was
now Emperor of the French dominions, and master of
greater part of the Continent, and was threatening
England with invasion. His troops had proved every-
where victorious; but his fleets had been destroyed and
captured at sea by Lord Howe, and the famous Nelson.
Science was making advances, particularly in the
branches of electricity and chemistry, aided by the
labours of Franklin and Priestley. Arkwright's cotton-
spinning machines were coming more and more into
use. Watt was setting his steam-engines to work,
and the first steamboat had been built, and many
thoughtful minds were full of schemes of education.







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

In short, a new power was coming into existence-that
of Industry combined with Intelligence, which some
day will be stronger than all the armies in the world.



CHAPTER III.

BEING a Knight of the Bath, the successful general now
took the title of Sir Arthur Wellesley. Soon after
his return from India he was elected Member of Parlia-
ment for the little borough of Rye; and laying war-
like duties aside for a time, he entered once more on
the civil service of his country. Ireland was then in
an unsettled state owing to the dissatisfaction of num-
bers of the people with the union which had taken
place with England, and Sir Arthur being considered
a fit person to keep the country in order, he was sent
to that country as Chief Secretary of the Government
in 1806. The year before he married a daughter of
the Earl of Longford, the Hon. Catherine Pakenham,
to -whom he had been engaged for some years. She
had suffered from an attack of small-pox which greatly
disfigured her beauty while he was in India, and she
offered to release him from his engagement; but Sir
Arthur remained faithful to his promise, and married
the lady notwithstanding the change in her appearance.
He had not been many months in Ireland before he
was called on to take up the sword again. The reason
was this: Napoleon wished to weaken England, and
as he could not come over and land on our shores, he
attempted to ruin our trade; and gave orders that no
British ships should enter any of the ports of the
continent, and that no one should buy or sell British
manufactures. IHe was master of Europe from Hol-







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

land to the South of France, he had also got the Em-
peror of Russia league with him in the same scheme,
and he thought himself sure of success. But the
people of the continent could not do without woollen
cloths, linen, calicoes, cutlery, and other manufactures,
and soon there were thousands of smugglers at work
supplying them with everything they wanted. Napo-
leon, however, determined to gain his ends, and as
Denmark had a powerful fleet of ships, he had planned
to send that fleet against England, and force us to
submit. To prevent this the British Government sent
an expedition to Copenhagen to seize and bring away
the fleet; the vessels of' war were commanded by
Admiral Gambier, and a division of the troops by Sir
Arthur Wellesley. He encountered the Danish forces
near their capital, and took more than 10,000 prison-
ers; and after a short struggle the fleet was seized
and brought away, and Napoleon's designs were
frustrated.
This seizure was a great robbery. The Danes were
not molesting us, and we had no right to go and take
thirty or more of their finest ships without being quite
sure that some other means of protecting our shores
and our commerce might not have been adopted with
equal success. The thanks of Parliament were, how-
ever, voted to the army and navy in January, 1808;
and the Speaker, alluding to Sir Arthur Wellesley,
said that he was one whose genius and valour had
already extended our fame and empire; whose sword
had been the terror of our distant enemies, and would
not be drawn in vain to defend the seat of the Empire
itself, and the throne of the King."
A short time after his return from this expedition
a young colt was presented to Sir Arthur; it was
named Copenhagen, and became in time his favourite







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

charger, and bore him through many a scene of battle
and danger.
The period of repose was but short; Napoleon was
striving to extend his power on the continent, and as
Portugal would not agree to shut out British ships
from her ports, he issued a decree in 1807, declaring
that the House of Braganza had ceased to reign,"
and sent Junot, one of his marshals, with an army of
70,000 men to take possession of the country. They
entered Lisbon in November, and the Portuguese
king and government took refuge on board English
ships and fled to Brazil.
Napoleon had promised to give the King of Spain
a share of Portugal if he would help him in his designs
against the British, but he soon entrapped that
monarch with his family, and kept him prisoner in
France, and took possession of Spain as he had before
of Portugal. He seized Madrid, filled the chief cities
with his troops, and made his elder brother, Joseph,
king of the country.
The Spaniards were not long in finding how shame-
fully they had been duped, they made desperate efforts
to shake off the yoke, and the French found it difficult
to withstand the enmity of a whole nation. Their
former wars had been mostly against governments,
but in Spain they first met that national resistance,
which spread from country to country, until a few
years later the power of Buonaparte was completely
broken.
On seeing these encroachments, the British
Government resolved to assist the Portuguese and
Spaniards in recovering their liberty. Accordingly an
army of 10,000 men was embarked at Cork, and Sir
Arthur Wellesley was appointed to the command. They
landed in Mondego Bay, about half way between







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

Lisbon and Oporto, at the end of July, 1808. Thirteen
thousand troops under General Spencer, arrived also
at the same time, from Cadiz. The French took the
alarm; the English fell in with them on the 17th of
August, when a smart battle took place, and this was
the beginning of the famous Peninsular wars. Up
to that time it had been believed that if the English
were invincible at sea, the French were invincible on
land.
Sir Arthur was for following up his success, when
his measures were checked by two older generals who,
unfortunately, had been sent out to take the chief
authority, and the favourable opportunity was lost.
He threw up his command in vexation; and returned
to England, and resumed his duties as Chief Secre-
tary; the events, however, which took place in the
Peninsula, made the Government determine to send
him out once more; and in April, 1809, he landed at
Lisbon, the leader of the army.
The French troops, then in different parts of Spain
and Portugal, numbered 320,000 men, commanded by
some of Napoleon's ablest generals; the British force
was 20,000 men, with about 15,000 Portuguese.
Before a month was over, the French were driven out
of Oporto, although they had considered themselves
well protected by the broad river Douro, that flowed
between them and the English. They had broken
down all the bridges, and taken all the boats to their
side of the stream, so that when the English came up,
there appeared no means of passing the broad, deep
current. The officers, however, set to work and
searched every creek and bay for miles up and down,
and found two small skiffs that had escaped notice.
In one of these a colonel crossed over to observe the
French, and on his return, he towed two larger boats







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

with him. In these, the troops were conveyed across
a few at a time, but with such dispatch that the
French were beaten before they well knew of the
enemy's arrival. Only twenty-three men were lost of
the British, and Wellesley sat down to the dinner
which had been prepared for Soult, and which the
French marshal had to leave in a hurry untasted. It
proved easier to beat the French, than to make the
Portuguese and Spaniards do their fair share of the
work in bringing up supplies of provisions and other
necessaries: owing to their carelessness, the British


_~-7




_--_-. ~ -- _
-- ' (. ''._







troops were at times half-starved, and without food.
Sir Arthur became indignant at this neglect, and in
one of his despatches to the Government, wrote, "I
positively will not move, nay, more, I will disperse
my army, till Iam supplied with provisions, and means
of transport, as I ought to be."
The French, although commanded by Soult, one
of their famous marshals, retreated in such haste
from Oporto, that they abandoned all their sick and
wounded, their cannon and baggage. The Portuguese
peasantry everywhere turned out to strike a blow at







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

the flying troops; they hated the French, and were
glad of the opportunity of helping to drive them
from their country. Many a poor fellow fell by the
knife of a peasant, who had a father and mother, and
brothers and sisters, expecting his return at some
quiet village in France. A mountain stream was
choked with the bodies of men and horses, mules, and
baggage, presenting a shocking spectacle. They had
fallen in their hasty flight, some with belts filled with
money round their bodies, or silver plate in their
boxes, all of which became the booty of the British
soldiers.
After this repulse, the French were anxious to
recover what they had lost, and Sir Arthur was no
less desirous to follow up his advantage. He there-
fore crossed the frontier, and entered Spain where the
two armies came in sight of each other, near an old
town named Talavera. Here there was some skir-
mishing for three or four days, during one of which
Sir Arthur had a narrow escape, a large bough having
been shivered from a tree under which he was stand-
ing, by a cannon-ball from the French batteries. The
Spanish army, about 50,000, had come up to render
assistance, but they were seldom to be depended on,
and Cuesta, their commander, was an obstinate old
man, who rode in a coach drawn by nine mules, and
was too fond of running away with his troops on the
appearance of danger. The British force was 22,000
men, and that of the French about 55,000.
The battle began on the 27th of July, and raged
furiously all the day; the French soldiers had been
so accustomed to conquer, that they were surprised
at the resistance opposed to them. They seemed to
consider the Spaniards as not worth meddling with,
and directed all their strength against the English,







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

whom, they were, as Napoleon had ordered, to drive
into the sea. The British troops, however, stood firm,
though charged again and again by the enemy, and
night came without either party giving way.
There was a brook running across the field of
battle, to which the soldiers on both sides resorted
to drink during a pause in the engagement, and it was
an interesting sight to see the French and English
shaking hands across the stream, exchanging caps,
lending drinking vessels to one another, and perform-
ing sundry little acts of friendship, as though there
was nothing but good-will on either side; and yet in
a short time afterwards they were again arrayed in
deadly conflict. Parties frequently met also while
going about the field in search of their wounded, but
without molesting each other.
The battle was renewed on the following day.
Joseph Buonaparte led on a body of troops in person,
and Marshal Victor, the French commander, made a
desperate charge all along the British line; but in
vain. He could not break through it, and he was
obliged to withdraw his forces, leaving behind him
nearly 10,000 men, dead and wounded, and seventeen
of his guns. The slaughter on both sides was terrible:
5000 men fell on the British side, and of the Spaniards
about 2000.
The thanks of the King and Parliament were given
to the army for this success, and Sir Arthur was
created Baron Douro of Wellesley, and Viscount
Wellington of Talavera, and of Wellington in the
county of Somerset;" and it is by the name of
Wellington that we must now speak of him. Increase
of honours brought no diminution of his difficulties,
for he had still the same trouble to get sufficient
supplies of food for his army, and Napoleon was








THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

preparing a tremendous blow which was to end the
war, and expel the British from the Peninsula. He
poured 280,000 fresh troops into Spain, under his
most brave and skilful marshals; and 80,000 of them,
led by Massena, followed Wellington, who had retired
into Portugal. Against such overwhelming numbers
he could only act on the defensive, and he slowly fell
back to a strong position, halting for a time at Busaco,
to let the French come up with him, when an engage-
ment took place, in which he proved to them that the
work of conquest would not be so easy as they had
expected. The French army, however, still pursued,
hoping to drive the English back to Lisbon, and there
force them to take to their ships.
Suddenly, however, they were stopped by a line of
fortifications twenty-nine miles long, extending from
the sea, across the country to Alhandra on the Tagus,
and about thirty miles from Lisbon. Batteries crowned
all the heights, and every road and ravine was filled
with breastworks, palisades of trees, and other defences.
About eight miles within this was another line, but
much stronger; and nearer to Lisbon rose a third
barrier, intended as a defence during embarkation,
should it come to that extremity : these were the
famous lines of Torres Vedras. Ten thousand men
had been at work upon them for some months,
unknown to the French, and Lord Wellington took
up his post behind them with the army, feeling
assured that he could now make a stand against the
enemy as long as he pleased. Ships coming to the
coast brought him plentiful supplies of provisions,
while the French were exposed to great privations;
and in addition to their disappointment in not driving
the English into the sea, they were continually suffer-
ing from the vindictive attacks of the Portuguese







THE STORY OP WELLINGTON.

peasantry. This was in October, 1810. In the same
year, an -nnual pension of 2000, had been voted to
Lord Wellington.



CHAPTER IV.
A MONTH passed away: the British troops remained
safe within their entrenchments, while the French,
wearied with watching, were exposed to severe hard-
ships. At length Massena resolved on a stratagem,
and he withdrew to Santarem, hoping that Wellington
would follow and give him a chance of battle. The
English commander was, however, too cautious; he
despatched General Hill with a force to observe the
enemy's movements, and for about four months the
hostile armies lay watching each other. The sufferings
of the French increased daily; large numbers of the
army formed themselves into bands of plunderers,
ready to commit any atrocity for the sake of food and
booty. The country was drained of its supplies to feed
so many men; some of the Portuguese peasantry died
of starvation, and numbers were murdered by the
French. In one house thirty women and children
were found who had perished for want of food. The
wolves devoured the flocks; the skeletons of men and
animals were found scattered about the fields and
mountains, and the whole region was fast becoming
a savage waste.
At the beginning of March, 1811, Massena broke
up his camp, and retreated in real earnest, leaving
Santarem in a state of desolation; streets in ruins,
foul with filth, and tenanted by wild dogs, owls, and
obscene birds. Now Lord Wellington left the lines of
Torres Vedras, and started in pursuit. The French as
c







THE BTORY OP WELLINGTON.

they went burnt down the towns, villages, and convents
along their route, and being obliged to abandon many
of their beasts of burden, they mutilated them before
turning them loose. In one place five hundred donkeys
were found hamstrung. It is a saying among soldiers
that every thing is fair in war, and all sorts of cruelties
are therefore committed without mercy. On the 5th
of April, Massena had again crossed the frontier, and
re-entered Spain with only 45,000 left of the 80,000
with whom lie had entered Portugal six months
before.
Almeida, a strongly-fortified town within the
Spanish territory, was soon taken by the English
forces, after which an attempt was made to capture
Badajoz. The French came up to its relief, and the
two armies met at Albuera on the 16th of May; the
Spaniards gave way, and the devastation made by the
French artillery was such that the British were about
to retire, when Henry Hardinge, a young colonel, led
a body of troops against the enemy's strongest posi-
tion, carried it, and victory declared for the English.
The loss of life was terrible; the battle had lasted
but about four hours, and yet more than 15,000 men
were killed, of whom 9000 were French. The colonel,
whose exploit turned the fortune of the day, became
afterwards Lord Hardinge, and Commander-in-chief
of the British army. After this battle the troops
again took up their quarters in Portugal.
The year 1812, found Wellington making prepara-
tions for the capture of the frontier fortresses; he
could make no permanent advance into Spain while
these remained in the hands of the enemy. The
difficulties were great, but they were all surmounted
by skill and vigour. Heavy battering cannon were
brought by sea from Lisbon and up the river Douro,







THE STORY OP, WELLINGTON.

which, unknown to the French, had been made navi-
gable along forty miles of its upper course where boats
could not swim before; and from thence the cannon
were dragged by 5000 oxen to the British encamp-
ment. The French believed that the English had no
guns heavy enough for battering a fortress, and their
armies had retired into cantonments, when Wellington,
taking them by surprise, suddenly threw a bridge,
which he had secretly prepared, across the river
Agueda, and laid siege to the strong city of Rodrigo.
This was on the 8th of January, and though the French
defended the place with great bravery, it was-taken on
the 19th. Seldom had a well-defended fortress been
captured in so short a time: the loss of life, however,
was very great. A powder magazine blew up on the
ramparts, and destroyed General Mackinnon, with
many of his troops. More than seventy officers, and
about 1000 men, were killed during the siege. As
many were slain on the side of the French; besides
which they lost nearly 2000 prisoners and 300 pieces
of cannon.
The British flag waved in triumph on the walls of
Ciadad Rodrigo; but the British troops flushed with
success, and, maddened by drink, were enacting deeds
within the city which cannot be read of without a
shudder. On such occasions, soldiers think they have
a right to pillage and murder wherever they please, as
a reward for taking the town; and they break open
and burn houses, commit the most frightful outrages
upon the unoffending inhabitants, and behave more
like demons than men. They refuse obedience to
their officers, often quarrel among themselves, and
numbers lose their lives through their own folly and
wickedness. Verily, those who excite a people to war
have much to answer for I 2
c2







THE STORY OP WELLINGTON.

No one laboured harder to repress these outrages
than Wellington himself; he wished, it is true, to beat
the enemy; but he did not wish to see British soldiers
disgracing themselves by pillage and murder. His
display of ability, and skilful conduct of the war, were
rewarded by his being raised to the rank of Earl by
the English Government, and the Spaniards and Portu-
guese awarded him similar honours.
He, still intent on his great task, had resolved
before the end of the same month, to attack Badajoz,
the only fortress that remained to be taken. Again
he made his preparations with all possible speed and
secresy, and on the 15th of March, long before he
was expected, he crossed the river Guadiana, and
invested the city.
Badajoz was much stronger than Rodrigo; 5000
of the best French troops formed the garrison, com-
manded by General Philippon, who was acknowledged
to be one of Buonaparte's best military engineers.
They had made every preparation for resistance, and
had determined not to give up the place; the British,
however, had made up their minds to take it. Then
began the digging of trenches, the raising of batteries
and redoubts; the besiegers creeping nearer and nearer
under cover of their earth-works; the besieged grow-
ing more and more desperate. Day after day, even on
the Sabbath, the terrible work went on; cannon roar-
ing, shells and rockets flying through the air with a
furious whiz, crashing and destroying wherever they
fell, mingled with the rattle of musketry and the din
of hosts engaged in mortal combat. The uproar was
heard for miles around.
Day after day the heavy cannon-balls crashed
against the ramparts, till at last the solid walls gave
way in places, and then it was resolved to storm the







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

city. Now the fighting became more terrible than
ever. The French, from the top of the walls, kept up
a blazing fire of musketry on the British troops as
they advanced, rank after rank plunged into the ditch,
and were struck down by the fast-flying bullets.
Their comrades who followed, passed over on their
dead bodies. Slowly they climbed the breach,
stumbling over beams stuck full of sharp sword-blades
and iron spikes, met by the French at every point;
hundreds fell back from the fatal wall. Blaze on blaze
-crash on crash-roar on roar-it was as though men
had brought a volcano to help them in their carnage,
while cries of agony, yells and curses, told of the
terrible slaughter that was going on. The French at
length gave way, the British rushed over the walls in
two or three places, and Badajoz was won.
Altogether about 6000 lives were lost in this fear-
ful siege; 8000 Portuguese and British prisoners who
were in the place regained their liberty; but the
brutal crimes and excesses perpetrated at Rodrigo
were repeated here with tenfold fury and horror.
Many of the English had to be shot before order could
be restored. And yet all those men, the victors and
the vanquished, were once smiling infants, reposing
peacefully on their mother's breast; and little the
parent thought that the child she had nourished, and
loved, and watched over, would one day become a
victim of war.
The French were astounded at the loss of their
stronghold; and Napoleon when he heard of it
declared that he would have Spain even if he could not
have the Spaniards. He reproved his marshals and
sent them orders to beat the English at whatever cost.
This was a memorable year for the great French
Emperor, for it was in 1812 that he marched with a
c3







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

mighty army to Russia, and commenced that fatal
campaign in which hundreds of thousands perished.
The French had still 270,000 troops in Spain, and
they might perhaps have got the upper hand had
their oppression and cruelty not roused the Spaniards
everywhere to resistance. Whole villages, except,
perhaps, an old priest, fled at the approach of the
French; and the inhabitants, joining themselves into
small bands called guerillas, harassed the invaders in
every way they could think of, and gave intelligence
of their movements to the English. On one occasion,
Soult demanded a sum of money from the abbot of
Conto: the worthy churchman assembled his congrega-
tion, but, instead of asking them to pay, he said, My
children, instead of giving up to our enemies all they
ask us, I will be your leader if you have the hearts to
refuse them, and employ the money in your own
defence." They all cried viva, and took up arms to
defend themselves. At Yalles, too, when Marshal St.
Cyr summoned it to surrender, the peasantry replied
with mournful dignity: General St. Cyr and his
honourable companions may indeed obtain the poor
glory of beholding this country one heap of ruins, but
neither they nor their master shall be able to assert
that this part of it willingly bowed its neck to a yoke
indignantly spurned by the whole nation." Such
sentiments roused the Spaniards to resistance, and
whenever the French fell into their power they
murdered them with the most frightful cruelties. It
was no uncommon sight to find men of either nation
crucified on trees by the roadside. Once the French
roasted a number of Spaniards alive in an oven; and
the Spaniards, to retaliate, seized a number of French,
buried them up to their necks in the ground, and left
them there to perish miserably. Had the Spanish







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

Government and chief men displayed the same courage
and patriotism as the Spanish people, the French
might never have been able to set foot in their coun-
try. The nation was brave and only wanted leaders,
but those who ought to have been leaders were base
cowards seeking only their own advantage. They
would not even bestir themselves to supply with food
the English who had come to effect their deliverance.
They had their reward, for Spain has sunk lower and
lower in the scale of nations.
Now that the fortresses were taken, Wellington
advanced against the French, and watching a favour-
able opportunity he beat them in a fierce battle at
Salamanca on the 22nd of July; forced them to
retreat, and thus opened the way to Madrid. Mile by
mile he had fought his way from Lisbon to the
heart of Spain, driving the foe before him; and his
success was not owing to what is called good luck,
but to his calm judgment, forethought, perseverance,
and above all his honesty of purpose. He fought
because it was his duty to fight, because he had been
entrusted with that fearful responsibility by the
English Government-not for the sake of wealth, or
power, or his own glory. Not to despair in adversity,
not to be vain-glorious in prosperity, but to hold every
inch of ground with a firm foot, to press forward with
untiring energy, and to learn lessons of wisdom from
every circumstance, is the true way to success in any
calling.
"Wellington entered Madrid with his troops on the
12th of August, and was received by the inhabitants
with the liveliest demonstrations of joy. Every one
hailed him as deliverer; flowers and flags adorned the
streets, the bells rang out, the houses were illuminated,
and men, women and children cried viva I till the








THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

whole city echoed with their acclamations. But
Wellington retained his calmness and self-possession,
and took instant measures to rouse the authorities
to a sense of their duties, and to push on after
the enemy. It was easier to him to beat the French
than to inspire the Spanish nobles with high spirit or
principle.

'\-










A_ 7


On the 1st September, the British troops left
Madrid, and for several months afterwards they were
engaged in watching the French, attacking them
when opportunity offered, and preventing them from
recovering their lost ground. Wellington was created
a Marquis, and Parliament voted him 100,000 for
the purchase of an estate, and to support his rank
and dignity. They did more-they sent him such
numerous reinforcements as raised his army to 200,000
men. With these he pressed on the French, came up
with them at Vittoria on the 21st of June, 1813,
defeated them in a tremendous battle which lasted nearly
the whole of the day. The French fled in the utmost







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

disorder, leaving behind all their cannon, ammunition,
baggage, provisions, besides the vast collection of pre-
cious objects which they had plundered from churches
and palaces all over the country. The spoil, indeed,
was enormous.
Wellington still pressed on; the French made a
stand in the passes of the Pyrenees, and at St. Sebastian
and Pampeluna; but they were driven from point to
point, until all had re-entered France, and not a
French soldier was left in the Peninsula. This was
the great object of the war; but the English still
advanced; two or three engagements were fought,
and on the 10th April, 1814, Soult was again defeated
in the memorable battle of Toulouse. This was the
finishing stroke. Napoleon's triumphs had come to
an end, he had abdicated the throne, and was no
longer Emperor of France.







THE STORY OP WELLINGTON.


CHAPTER V.

IN fhe year 1812, about a month before the battle of
Salamanca was fought, Napoleon set out on his famous
campaign in Russia. The Czar Alexander was no
longer willing to shut his ports against British vessels;
the French Emperor resolved, therefore, to attempt
the conquest of Russia, so that there might be none to
dispute his will in any part of the continent of Europe.
The Russians, however, would not be beaten; they
resisted manfully, and towards the close of the year
the winter set in with such terrible severity, that more
Frenchmen perished from frost and starvation than in
actual battle. The retreat from Moscow was a dread-
ful succession of calamities; and Napoleon returned to
Paris in the last month of the year, feeling that his
power was on the decline.
Europe, indeed, was weary of war. Quiet people,
of whom there are a large number in every country,
were tired of endless confusion, and they wished for
nothing so much as that order should be restored, and
affairs go on once more in their regular course. They
did not see either that it was any benefit to them to be
prevented buying English manufactures; it was surely
better, they thought, to buy things that had been
made in England than to go without, and the conse-
quence was that they bought what they wanted in
spite of the Emperor's decrees. Had Napoleon been
wise, and contented himself with the lawful territory
of France, he might have remained Emperor until the
close of his life; and had he devoted himself to the
interests of the people instead of his own ambitious
designs, he would not have provoked the nations
of Europe to rise in arms against him. While







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

he was Emperor he drew from France 2,300,000
conscripts, of whom all except 100,000 perished in his
service.
Early in 1813, Prussia and Sweden were ready to
join Russia against France, and strike a blow for
independence: Holland, too, threw off the French
yoke, and placed the Prince of Orange once more on
the throne. Napoleon, however, contrived to raise
another army of 350,000 men, and again he entered
Germany, thinking, as before, to subdue all that
opposed, But the national spirit was awakened;
Germany for the Germans! was the cry, and each
man fought like a hero for the freedom of his father-
land. At first the French gained some advantages;
but in the course of the summer news was heard of
Wellington's victory at Vittoria, and then Austria
also declared against France, and allied herself with
the other powers. The battles of Leipsic and Hanau
were fought, and Napoleon was driven back to France
with only 70,000 left of his great army.
His authority, however, was still so great, that he
speedily raised another army of 300,000 men, and
prepared to resist the allies, who were marching from
the north and east towards the French territory, while
Wellington, having passed the Pyrenees, was pushing
his way from the south. Thus the year 1814 opened;
for two months Napoleon kept the field against all his
foes, and never before had his masterly genius in the
art of war showed itself so strikingly as during that
campaign-his successes at times were perfectly asto-
nishing. But the allies were too numerous; they
pressed continually forwards, and by the end of March
they had taken Paris. Napoleon had hoped that the
nation would make one desperate effort in his favour
at the last moment, but the French were exhausted







THE aTOlY OF WELLINGTON.

with wars and taxes, and the Emperor abdicated on
the 5th of April, just five days before Wellington
gained the battle of Toulouse.
Napoleon was sent to the small island of Elba, in
the Mediterranean, of which he was to be sovereign,
with a number of attendants, and a large yearly in-
come. Louis XVIII. was restored to the throne of
France, and in June, Wellington returned to England.
He had been away five years, during which time, in
defiance of all obstacles, he had defeated again and
again the best and bravest armies of the French
Empire. Parliament voted to him altogether 500,000,
besides his pensions, and he was raised to the rank of
Duke, the highest title of nobility, for his many ser-
vices. He took his seat in the House of Lords, and
was there thanked in the name of the King and the
Parliament. About the same time the Emperor Alex-
ander and the King of Prussia visited England, and
great were the rejoicings at the prospects of peace.
There was much still to be done on the continent:
governments were to be settled, boundaries estab-
lished, and means taken to repair the loss and waste
occasioned by war. The Duke of Wellington was
sent' as ambassador to Paris, to assist in this desirable
work, and from thence he went to a Congress of
European powers at Vienna, where it was hoped all
these questions would be finally settled. But in March,
1815, news went abroad that startled Europe from one
end to the other. Napoleon, weary of confinement
and inaction, broke his treaty, escaped from Elba, and
landed at Cannes, in the south of France, with about
a thousand followers. Notwithstanding all that had
taken place, many of the French were still attached to
his cause, and as he advanced into the country, num-
bers of his generals and his old soldiers flocked to his
*I







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

standard, till troop by troop, and regiment by regi-
ment, nearly the whole of the French army had joined
him. They thought the Emperor had come to lead
them once more to victory-to restore the Empire with
all its military glories. His advance at last became a
triumphal progress, and on the 20th of March he
entered Paris; the King fled, and Napoleon was again
ruler of France.
Now it seemed as if the havoc and suffering occa-
sioned by the previous years of war were to be re-
newed, for the Emperor made great efforts to get his
army into a fighting condition. The allies, however,
determined to oppose him; Wellington hastened from
Vienna to take command of the British forces then
quartered in Belgium in the neighbourhood of Brussels,
while a large Prussian army that lay in another part of
the same country under the renowned Marshal Blucher
"made ready to assist him.
Napoleon left Paris on the 12th June, and hastened
to the Belgian frontier where his army was already
assembled. Immediately on his arrival he issued an
animating proclamation to the troops to rouse their
enthusiasm. He had 120,000 men under his com-
mand, and hoped, before many days were over, to
hear them shouting victory! and he lost no time
in despatching troops in different directions to drive
back the enemy.
The British army numbered about 75,000; but it
was not the same that had performed such exploits in
the Peninsula, and of which the saying ran, that "it
could go anywhere, and do anything." Some regi-
ments had been sent to America, others to the West
Indies, and there were but few remaining in Belgium;
the rest were Dutch, Belgians, Brunswickers, and
other Germans. Wellington, however, did not despair.







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

placing the best of the troops in the front, he took up
a position that would prevent the French from advano-
ing on Brussels.
On the 14th and 15th, the fighting began, by the
French crossing the river Sambre and driving in the
Prussian outposts. Marshal Ney advanced with 40,000
men to take possession of Quatre Bras, or the cross
roads, a strong position which Napoleon bade him
fortify as a defence against the English. The Emperor's
plan was to defeat the Prussians, or to drive them to
a distance, and then fall suddenly on the British and
beat them also; and he was pressing rapidly forward
when he found, to his surprise, a large Prussian army
before him where he had expected to find a clear
country. A battle ensued, in which success favoured
first one side, then the other, till at length the
Prussians were driven back, and the French gained
the battle of Ligny. Blucher had a narrow escape of
being made prisoner, for his horse fell with him, and
while he lay unable to stir, a regirsent of French
cuirassiers galloped past but without perceiving him,
and he was finally rescued by his own troops returning
to the charge.
All this time the Duke of Wellington had re-
mained at Brussels watching the course of events,
attentive to the reports brought to him every hour
by swift-riding messengers. On the 14th, he saw that
no time was to be lost in opposing the rapid advance
of the French, and trying to effect a junction with the
Prussians. He wrote to Louis XVIII., who had taken
refuge at Ghent, recommending him to prepare to
depart hastily foi Antwerp in case Napoleon should
conquer, and he issued orders for all the regiments
of the British army to march as quickly as possible
towards Quatre Bras. A grand ball was to be given







THE BTOR2 OP WELLINGTON.

in Brussels the same evening, to which many of the
English officers had been invited; and to prevent
alarm spreading in the city, Wellington permitted
them to attend, but they were to leave quietly before
midnight and join their respective regiments, and he
himself departed one of the last. So rapidly did the
troops advance, that the French were held in check
for nearly a whole day, and the time thus gained was
turned to good account. The Duke's aim was to pre-
vent Napoleon from marching on Brussels, he, there-
fore, took up a position just outside the forest of
Soignies on the top of high ground which sloped away
to the village of Waterloo, and showed a broad expanse
of fields of ripening wheat, with here and there a farm
surrounded by tall trees and hedges. Behind him the
road led through the forest, and along this he could
retreat and defend it with his cannon in case of need.
Blucher, after his repulse at Ligny, had met with
another large division of the Prussian army, and was
hastening to join the British forces in time to resist
the great attack which it was clear Napoleon intended
to make. Rain, however, fell so heavily for three
or four days, that the roads became nearly impass-
able, especially for large bodies of men and heavy
cannon.
The morning of the 18th dawned with brighter
promise; the clouds dispersed, and the beams of the
summer sun shone on the fair face of nature, and the
hostile armies drawn up opposite each other. It was
Sunday morning, the day of rest and thanksgiving;
but of the thousands who then saw the sun for the last
time, how few thought of anything but the coming
strife. Napoleon had pushed forward his 80,000
troops, and ranged them in order of battle in a position
facing that of the English, whom he hoped to have







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

defeated before the Prussians could come up. Well-
ington's army numbered about 68,000, of whom not
more than 24,000 were British.
For some time the two hosts stood watching each
other; at length, about ten in the morning, Napoleon
ordered an attack to be made on the Chateau of
Hongomont, a strong post on high ground in the
centre of the English left wing. Possession of this
place would have rendered victory almost certain, and
Wellington was resolved not to give it up. Soon the
fire of the sharpshooters flashed thick and fast, and as
the French came up, from tree to tree, from hedge to
hedge, the English fell back; but presently with
renewed courage they drove the French down the
slope, while volleys of grape-shot from fifty pieces of
artillery, made dreadful havoc in their ranks. Seven
times did the French enter within the walls of the
court-yard, and as many times were they driven out,
and nearly 6000 men fell in the fearful struggle at this
spot. Meantime 300 cannon were belching forth their
destructive charges along the line of the two armies:
smoke darkened the air, and fire and fury covered the
field.
Napoleon had directed a charge to be made on the
British centre, hoping to cut the army in two, and
make an easy conquest. Marshal Ney, known as the
bravest of the brave, led on this attack; his first efforts
were successful, and the Belgian troops opposed to
him fled in panic; but Wellington ordering up two
regiments of English dragoons, they charged full
speed down the hill, crushed some of Ney's advancing
columns, and silenced his artillery. Again the French
troops came on in ever increased numbers-gradually
they forced their way up the slopes, and numbers
of peasants and camp-followers fled on the road to







THE STORY OP WELLINGTON.

Brussels, carrying news of defeat to the terrified
inhabitants.
Amid all these circumstances, Wellington remained
cool and collected; his mind was made up to stay there,
till the last man had fallen, rather than give up the
position. With his troops drawn up in squares, ho
resisted charge after charge of the French, who came



-*: ',



.% r_









THE BATTLE OF WATERLOO.

thundering on with their cavalry, striving in vain to
break the bristling ranks of bayonets opposed to them.
But how desperate seemed the chances of the day;
thousands of the British army lay dead, eleven gene-
rals had been carried lifeless from the field, and eight
of the Duke's aides-de-camp were either killed or
wounded.
So the fatal day wore on, till the sun was sinking
in the west. Napoleon, viewing the battle from an








THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

eminence, already felt sure of victory, and was sur-
prised that the English did not retreat; he exclaimed
that they did not know when they were beaten.
Wellington, however, was determined to hold his
ground till nightfall, and as evening approached he
every moment expected the arrival of his allies. Some
hours before dark, masses of moving objects had been
seen at a distance; these came nearer and nearer, and
at last, issuing from the narrow roads in which they
had been delayed, they fell on the right wing of the
French, and began to cannonade the spot on which
Napoleon had posted himself. Ney was still pressing
on to carry the British centre by a tremendous charge,
and 10,000 French cavalry galloped down on the
British squares for a final sweep; but the ranks stood
firm, and as the horse retired, they opened and sent
after them a terrific charge of grape-shot. More than
once did the French penetrate quite to the rear of the
English, and thought they had won the victory; the
squares, however, kept their ground, and the struggle
seemed endless. Stand fast I stand to the last man,
my lads!" cried the Duke. "We must not be beaten:
what would they say of us in England ?" Yet had he
need of all his hope and courage, for every minute
hundreds were falling before his eyes under the
desperate charges of the French.
At length, Napoleon believing that the moment of
victory had really come, ordered a grand onset of his
Old Guard, which had never been conquered, and of all
his serviceable troops. On they swept like a tornado,
with shouts of Vive l'Empereur! but the British squares
still stood firm as walls of stone, and they received the
foe with such a terrible discharge of musketry and
grape-shot, that the advancing columns were shaken-
they halted-hesitated-and at last turned and fled.







THE STORY OF WELLINGTON.

At that moment Wellington heard the sound of the
Prussian cannon, and saw the Prussian troops issuing
on the field-then he brought up a regiment of Life
Guards that had been kept in reserve, and gave his
final order for his whole line to charge. lie was
answered by a wild Hurra! and a rush that broke
through everything. "All is lost!" cried Napoleon,
-he mounted his horse and fled, followed by all the
French army in frightful panic.
Disorder, dismay, and havoc attended their flight,
for the Prussians kept up the pursuit long after the
twilight of the Sabbath evening had fallen on the
earth. Wellington's stubborn resistance won the
battle. The allies again marched to Paris-Napoleon
abdicated once more, and intended to escape to
America, but the shores of France were too carefully
watched by British cruisers. So, after a brief term of
power which is known as The Hundred Days, he
gave himself up to Admiral Maitland, on board the
Bellerophon, and a short time afterwards was sent to
St. Helena, where he was strictly guarded until he
died in 1821.



CHAPTER VI.

WELLINGTON was forty-six years old, in the prime of
his manhood, when he gained the battle of Waterloo.
He had reached the highest pitch of honour at an
age when some men have scarcely begun to exhibit
their powers-a proof of the ripeness of his genius,
and a noble reward for his persevering straightfor-
wardness. Not by seeking his own aggrandisement,
or listening to the temptings of a false anibition, did

1-' -







THE STORY OP WELLINGTON.

he merit and receive wealth and dignities, but by
steadily pursuing his duty wherever it led him. He
followed it through doubt, difficulty, and danger, and
reaped an ungrudged recompense.
From that time Wellington filled a position among
the foremost men of the day. He left the wild work
of war for the duties of a statesman. Having defended
his country, he assisted in governing it. The closing
years of George III.'s life, and the reign of his suc-
cessor George IV., were troubled by political agita-
tion; the long war had raised the national debt to
800,000,000, and the nation grew impatient under
the heavy burden of taxation. A large meeting held
at Manchester in 1819, to petition for reform, was
very unjustly attacked and dispersed by hussars and
yeomanry with drawn swords, and several people were
killed and numbers wounded. In the following year a
few desperate men in London, the Cato Street con-
spirators, as they were called, plotted to murder the
King's ministers; but their secret was betrayed, and
the leaders suffered death. During these years the
Duke of Wellington lost much of his popularity, for
many of the people believed him to be unfriendly to
their liberties. He performed various public duties in
the same period, and was sent several times to the
continent on important political missions.
After the death of the Duke of York, Wellington
was appointed Commander-in-Chief of the British
army. In 1828, he took the office of Prime Minister of
England, and in conjunction with Mr. Peel, he carried
the measure of Catholic Emancipation, whereby the
Catholics were admitted to the same civil privileges as
Protestants. In September, 1830, the Duke opened
the Liverpool and Manchester Railway, one of the
first of those iron roads which have since stretched






THE STORY OP WELLINGTON.

to all parts of the country. By this time the cry for
reform had everywhere become loud and urgent; the
Duke declared in the House of Lords that no reform
was needed; but he was mistaken, and he had
to resign office, and leave to others the glorious
work of leading the nation on in enlightenment and
liberty.
Ten years passed away, and in 1841 the Duke
again became a member of the Cabinet. He had
regained his popularity, and he had learned that the
rational advance of a great nation is not to be opposed
for the sake of old prejudices. He, therefore, gave
his counsel well and wisely, and when it became neces-
sary to repeal the Corn Laws in 1846, he assisted
honestly in the work. It was one which even the
noblest might be proud to have promoted.
When the Great Exhibition was opened in May,
1851, the Duke of Wellington was present, and as he
gazed on the wondrous spectacle, and saw all the
nations of the earth meeting there in trust and amity,
he must have felt that Peace has its victories as well
as War, and with glories unobscured by slaughter and
suffering. He had then lived beyond the ordinary
term of existence, his hair was grey, and he tottered
as he walked, but everywhere was he looked on
with admiration and respect. The Duke of Welling-
ton was England's hero, and all England honoured
him.
There is little more to be said. On the 14th of
September, 1852, in his 84th year, the Duke died at
Walmer Castle. The mournful news flew quickly to
all parts of the country, and awoke everywhere the
sentiment of a great national loss. Full of years and
honours the old hero had sunk to rest; and it was
resolved that his remains should be borne to the tomb