The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. II., No. 9, August, 1836Various
History
The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. II., No. 9, August, 1836
Various
American literature -- 19th century -- Periodicals
“This is my boy”—he exclaimed, “this is my boy!” while he was
striving to press through the crowd; but when has a crowd listened to
any thing? On it went, and I floated on a sea of heads and hats. At
last my father, impelled by a parent's anxiety, almost driven by
despair, succeeded in severing this piece of human mosaic. He grasped
my foot, and down I went. My situation was in no way bettered, for the
current of men continued to roll on; as Socrates threw himself over
his beloved Alcibiades or Epaminondas over Pelopidas (I compare the
great to the small) so resolved my father to form a shield over his
urchin. This necessarily soon created a mountain of tumbling and
scrambling individuals over me, and I should surely have been
suffocated, had not most happily the layer over my father consisted of
a huge grenadier, who, torn or driven from his line, had met with this
living stumbling block. “There is a boy below,” he shouted, with a
stentorian voice; “by G— he sha'nt be killed.” I considered this a
very sensible speech, quite to the purpose; and felt happy indeed,
when my Trim—if he was no sergeant, I would have given him the
cheveron on the spot, had I possessed the power—succeeded in
excavating me. Oh, with what feeling I drew breath! but Schill was
gone; I heard the music at a distance long past by, while my father
hugged me, his eyes beaming with joyful gratitude for my delivery.
We now mingled with the soldiers, and my father picked out three or
four, to take quarters with us. So great was the ardor of the citizens
of Berlin, to have some of the followers quartered with them, and in
such a degree was all military order broken into, that it was
impossible for the commanding officer to give any orders before his
followers were dismissed, and he was obliged, the next morning, to
publish the order, where and when the rendezvous should take place,
through the police of the city. My father had caught an officer and
several privates; we made them tell us of Colberg the whole livelong
day, and pestered them with a thousand questions.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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