One moment a struggling moonbeam fell upon his flashing sword, as he waved it through the air, with his last cheer for his men—"This way, 97th!" The next, the strong arm which had been uplifted, hung powerless by his side, and he fell amongst his enemies. But friends followed fast. His men fought their way through the ranks of the Russians, to defend the departing life of the leader they loved. Noble, brave men! to whom all who loved Hedley Vicars own an unforgotten debt of gratitude and honour.
In their arms they bore him back, amidst shouts of a victory so dearly bought.
An officer of the Royal Engineers stopped them on their way and asked whom they carried. The name brought back to him the days of his boyhood. The early playmate, since unseen, who now lay dying before him, was one whose father's deathbed had been attended and comforted by his own father as minister and friend.[1]
Captain Browne found a stretcher, and placing his friend upon it, cooled his fevered lips with a draught of water. That "cup of cold water shall in no wise lose its reward."
To each inquiry, Hedley Vicars answered cheerfully, that he believed his wound was slight. But a main artery had been severed, and the life-blood flowed fast.
A few paces onward, and he faintly said, "Cover my face; cover my face!"
What need for covering under the shadow of that dark night? Was it not a sudden consciousness that he was entering into the presence of the Holy God, before whom the cherubim veil their faces.
- ↑ The Dean of Lismore.
