ome followed him, as he called out,--

"You are right, brother; here should perish all who bear the name of
Bonaparte."

The same moment the Prussian light artillery rend the ranks asunder, and
the cavalry charge down upon the scattered fragments. A few of his staff,
who never left him, place the Emperor upon a horse and fly through the
death-dealing artillery and musketry. A squadron of the Life Guards, to
which I had attached myself, came up at the moment, and as Blucher's
hussars rode madly here and there, where so lately the crowd of staff
officers had denoted the presence of Napoleon, expressed their rage and
disappointment in curses and cries of vengeance.

Cambronne's battalion stood yet unbroken, and seemed to defy every attack
that was brought against them. To the second summons to surrender they
replied as indignantly as at first; and Vivian's Brigade was ordered to
charge them. A cloud of British horse bore down on every face of the
devoted square; but firm as in their hour of victory, the heroes of Marengo
never quailed; and twice the bravest blood of Britian recoiled, baffled and
dismayed. There was a pause for some minutes, and even then, as we surveyed
our broken and blood-stained squadrons, a cry of admiration burst from our
ranks at the gallant bearing of that glorious infantry. Suddenly the tramp
of approaching cavalry was heard; I turned my head and saw two squadrons of
the Second Life Guards. The officer who led them on was bare-headed; his
long dark hair streaming wildly behind him, and upon his pale features,
to which not even the headlong enthusiasm of battle had lent one touch of
color. He rode straight to where I was standing, his dark eyes fixed upon
me with a look so fierce, so penetrating, that I could not look away.
The features, save in this respect, had almost a look of idiocy. It was
Hammersley.

"Ha!" he cried at last, "I have sought you out the entire day, but in vain.
It is not yet too late. Give me your hand, boy. You once called on me to
follow _you_, and I did not refuse; I trust you'll do the like by _me_. Is
it not so?"

[Illustration: DEATH OF HAMMERSLEY.]

A terrible perception of his meaning shot through my mind as I clasped his
clay-cold hand in mine, and for a moment I did not speak.

"I hoped for better than this," said he, bitterly, and as a glance of
withering scorn flashed from his eye. "I did trust that he who was
preferred before me was at least not a coward."