But though he apologized, he could not refrain from echoing here and there a weighty word: "Glorious victory,"—"Two hundred pieces of artillery,"—"Immense quantity of ammunition,"—and so forth.
"The loss of the British Army upon this occasion has unfortunately been most severe. It had not been possible to make out a return of the killed and wounded when Major Percy left headquarters. The names of the officers killed and wounded, as far as they can be collected, are annexed.
I have the honor—"
"The list, aunt! Read the list!"
"My love—my darling—let us go in and—"
"No. Now! now!"
To one thing the supremely afflicted are entitled in their sorrow,—to be obeyed; and yet it is the last kindness that people commonly will do them. But Miss Jessamine did. Steadying her voice, as best she might, she read on; and the old soldier stood bareheaded to hear that first Roll of the Dead at Waterloo, which began with the Duke of Brunswick and ended with Ensign Brown.[5] Five-and-thirty British Captains fell asleep that day on the Bed of Honor, and the Black Captain slept among them.
There are killed and wounded by war of whom no returns reach Downing Street.
Three days later, the Captain's wife had joined him, and Miss Jessamine was kneeling by the cradle of their orphan son, a purple-red morsel of humanity with conspicuously golden hair.