Classic Poem

The grand old kingdom of England, in the course of the mossy centuries
you can count over its head, has had its times of gloom and depression
at dangers that looked near, and its times of shouting and rejoicing
over dangers its brave men have driven away quite out of sight again.

One of the deepest seasons of gloom was when the French Emperor,
Napoleon, had conquered one country after another, until there was
scarcely anything but England left to attack; and one of the proudest
times of rejoicing was when the "Iron Duke" Wellington, and the bluff
old Prussian, Blucher, met him at Waterloo, defeated his armies and
drove him from the field. There were bonfires, and bell-ringings then,
and from that day onward England loved and cherished every man who
had fought at Waterloo--from the "Duke" himself down to the plainest
private, every one was a hero and a veteran.

In one of the humblest houses of a proud nobleman's estate, a low,
whitewashed cottage, one of these veterans lived not so very many years
ago. He had fought by his flag in one of the most gallant regiments
until the last hour of the battle, and then had fallen disabled from
active service for the rest of his life.

That did not seem to be of so very great consequence though, just now;
for peace reigned in the land, and with his wife and two beautiful
daughters to love, his battles to think over, and his pension to provide
the bread and coffee, the old soldier was as happy as the day was long.
It made no difference that the bread and the coffee were both black, and
the clothes of the veteran were coarse and seldom new.

"Ho, Peggy!" he used to say to his wife, "my cloak is as fine as the one
the 'Iron Duke' wore when they carried me past him just as the French
were breaking; and as for the bread, only a veteran knows how the
recollection of victory makes everything taste sweet!"

But it seemed as if the old soldier's life was going to prove like his
share in that great day at Waterloo--success and victory till the end
had nearly come, and then one shot after another striking him with
troubles, he could never get over.

The first came in the midst of the beautiful summer days, when the bees
droned through the delicious air, the rose-bush was in full bloom, and
the old soldier sat in the cottage door reveling in it all. A slow,
merciless fever rose up through the soft air--it did not venture near
the high ground where the castle stood, but it crept noiselessly into
the whitewashed cottage, one night, and the soldier's two daughters were
stricken down. This was the beginning of terrible trouble to the veteran
of Waterloo. Not that he minded watching, for he was used to standing
sentry all night, and as for nursing, he had seen plenty in the
hospital; but to see his daughters suffering--that was what he could not
bear!

And worst of all, between medicines and necessaries for the sick, the
three months' pension was quite used up, and when the old soldier's
nursing had pulled through the fierceness of the fever, there was
nothing but black bread left in the house--and black bread was almost
the same as no bread at all to the dainty appetities the fever had left;
and that was what he had to think of, and think of, as he sat in the
cottage door.

"Bah!" said the old soldier, with something more like a groan than was
ever heard from him while his wounds were being dressed, "I could face
all the armies of Napoleon better than this!"

And he sat more and more in the cottage door, as if that could leave the
trouble behind; but it stood staring before him, all the same, till it
almost shut the rosebush and the bees out of sight. But one morning a
tremendous surprise came to him like a flash out of the sky! He heard
the sound of galloping troops, and he pricked up his ears, for that
always made him think of a cavalry charge.

"Who goes there?" he cried; but without answering his challenge the
sound came nearer and nearer, and a lackey in full livery dashed up to
the door, and presented him with a note sealed with the blood-red seal
of the castle arms. It was an invitation to dine at the castle with a
company of noblemen and officers of the army. His lordship, who had also
fought at Waterloo, had just learned that a comrade was living on his
estate, and made haste to do him honor, and secure a famous guest for
his dinner party.

The old soldier rose up proudly, and gave the lackey a military salute.

"Tell his lordship," he said, "that I shall report myself at
headquarters, and present my thanks for the honor he has done me."

The lackey galloped off, and the veteran pushed his chair over with his
wooden leg, and clattered across the cottage floor.

"Ho, Peggy!" he cried, "did I not say that luck comes and trouble flies
if you only face the enemy long enough? This is the beginning of good
things, I tell you! A hero of Waterloo, and fit to dine with lords and
generals, will certainly have other good fortune coming to him, till he
can keep his wife and daughters like princesses. Just wait a bit and
you shall see!" and he turned hastily away, for his heart came up in his
throat so that he could not speak.

All the rest of that day he sat in the door, brushing and darning and
polishing his stained uniform. It had lain abandoned on the shelf for
many a year, but before night every button was shining like gold, the
scarlet cloth was almost fresh once more, and the old soldier, wrapped
in his faithful cloak, was making his way joyfully across the heathery
moors to the castle quite at the other side.

But when he had fairly reached it, and the servant had shown him
into the drawing-room, his heart almost failed him for a moment. Such
splendor he had never seen before--a thousandth part would have bought
health and happiness for the dear ones he had left with only his brave
goodbye and a fresh rose-bud to comfort them!

However, what with the beautiful ladies of the castle gathering
round him to ask questions about the battle, and with a seat near his
lordship's right hand at dinner, he soon plucked up again, and began to
realize how delightful everything was. But that was the very thing that
almost spoiled the whole again, for when he saw his plate covered with
luxuries and delicacies more than he could possibly eat, the thought of
the black bread he had left at the cottage brought the tears rushing to
his eyes.

But, "Tut!" he said to himself in great dismay, "what an ungrateful
poltroon his lordship will think he has brought here!" and he managed to
brush them off while no one was looking.

It was delicious, though, in spite of everything, and after a while the
wine began to flow--that warmed his very heart--and then he heard his
lordship calling to a servant to bring him something from his private
desk, saying:

"Gentlemen, I am about to show you the proudest treasure I possess. This
diamond snuff-box was presented to me by the stout old Blucher himself,
in remembrance of service I was able to perform at Waterloo. Not that
I was a whit worthier of it than the brave fellows under my
command--understand that!"

How the diamonds glistened and gleamed as the box was passed from hand
to hand! As if the thickest cluster of stars you ever saw, could shine
out in the midst of a yellow sunset sky, and the colors of the rainbow
could twinkle through them at the same time! It was superb, but then
that was nothing compared to the glory of receiving it from Blucher!

Then there was more wine and story-telling, and at last some asked to
look at the snuff-box again.

"Has any one the snuff-box at present?" asked his lordship, rather
anxiously, for as he turned to reach it no snuff-box was to be seen.

No one said "yes," for everyone was sure he had passed it to his
neighbor, and they searched up and down the table with consternation in
their faces, for the snuff-box could not have disappeared without hands,
but to say so was to touch the honor of gentlemen and soldiers.

At last one of the most famous officers rose from his seat:

"My lord," he said, "a very unlucky accident must have occurred here.
Some one of us must have slipped the box into his pocket unconsciously,
mistaking it for his own. I will take the lead in searching mine, if the
rest of the company will follow!"

"Agreed!" said the rest, and each guest in turn went to the bottom of
one pocket after another, but still no snuff-box, and the distress of
the company increased. The old soldier's turn came last, and with it
came the surprise. With burning cheeks and arms folded closely across
his breast he stood up and confronted the company like a stag at bay.

"No!" he exclaimed, "no one shall search my pockets! Would you doubt the
honor of a soldier?"

"But we have all done so," said the rest, "and every one knows it is the
merest accident at the most." But the old soldier only held his arms the
tighter, while the color grew deeper in his face. In his perplexity his
lordship thought of another expedient.

"We will try another way, gentlemen," he said, "I will order a basket of
bran to be brought, and propose that each one in turn shall thrust his
hand into the bran. No one shall look on, and if we find the box at
last, no one can guess whose hand placed it there."

It was quickly done, and hand after hand was thrust in, until at last
came the old soldier's turn once more. But he was nowhere to be seen.

Then, at last the indignation of the company broke forth.

"A soldier, and a hero of Waterloo, and willing to be a thief!" and with
their distress about the affair, and his lordship's grief at his loss,
the evening was entirely spoiled.

Meantime the old soldier, with his faithful cloak wrapped closely round
him once more, was fighting his way through the sharp winds and over the
moors again. But a battle against something a thousand times sharper and
colder was going on in his breast.

"A thief!" he was saying over and over to himself, "me, who fought close
to the side of the 'Iron Duke'! And yet, can I look one of them in the
face and tell him he lies?"

The walk that had been gone over so merrily was a terrible one to
retrace, and when the cottage was reached, instead of the pride and good
luck the poor invalids had been watching for, a gloom deadlier than the
fever followed him in. He sat in the doorway as he used, but sometimes
he hung his head on his breast, and sometimes started up and walked
proudly about, crying--

"Peggy! I say no one shall call me a thief! I am a soldier of the Iron
Duke!"

But they did call him a thief, though, for a very strange thing, after
his lordship had sorrowfully ordered the cottage and little garden spot
to be searched no box was found, and the gloom and the mystery grew
deeper together.

Good nursing could not balance against trouble like this; the beautiful
daughters faded and died, the house was too gloomy to stay inside, and
if he escaped to the door, he had to hear the passers say--

"There sits the soldier who stole the Blucher diamonds from his host!"

And as if this was not enough, one day the sound of hoofs was heard
again, and a rider in uniform clattered up to the door saying:

"Comrade, I am sent to tell you that your pension is stopped! His
Majesty cannot count a thief any longer a soldier of his!"

After this the old soldier hardly held up his head at all, and his hair,
that had kept black as a coal all these years, turned white as the moors
when the winter snows lay on them.

"Though that is all the same, Peggy," he used to say, "for it is winter
all the year round with me! If I could only die as the old year does!
That would be the thing!"

But long and merciless as the winter is, spring does come at last, if we
can but live and fight our way through the storms and cold.

One night a cry of fire roused all the country-side. All but the old
soldier. He heard them say the castle was burning, but what was that
to him? Nothing could burn away the remembrance that he had once
been called a thief within its walls! But the next morning he heard a
step--not a horse's hoof this time, but a strong man walking hastily
towards him.

"Where is the veteran of Waterloo?" asked his lordship's voice, and when
the old soldier stepped forward, he threw his arms about his neck with
tears and sobs.

"Comrade," he said, "come up to the castle! The snuff-box is found,
and I want you to stand in the very room where it was lost while I tell
everyone what a great and sorrowful wrong a brave and honest soldier has
suffered at my hands!"

It did not take many words to explain. In the first alarm of fire the
butler had rushed to the plate-closet to save the silver.

"Those goblets from the high shelf! Quick!" he said, to the footman who
was helping him, and with the haste about the goblets something else
came tumbling down.

"The lost diamond snuff-box!" cried the butler. "That stupid fellow I
dismissed the day it disappeared, must have put it there and forgotten
all about it!"

The fire was soon extinguished, but not a wink of sleep could his
lordship get until he could make reparation for the pitiful mistake
about the box; and once more the old soldier made his way across the
moors, even the wooden leg stepping proudly as he went along, though now
and then, as the old feeling came over him, his white head would droop
for a moment again.

The servants stood aside respectfully as he entered the castle, and they
and the other guests of that unlucky day gathered round him while his
lordship told them how the box had been found and how he could not rest
until forgiven by the brave hero he had so unjustly suspected of wrong.

"And now," said the company, "will you not tell us one thing more? Why
did you refuse to empty your pockets, as all the rest were willing to
do?"

"Because," said the old soldier sorrowfully, "because I WAS a thief, and
I could not bear that anyone should discover it! All whom I loved
best in the world were lying sick at home, starving for want of the
delicacies I could not provide, and I felt as if my heart would break to
see my plate heaped with luxuries while they had not so much as a taste!
I thought a mouthful of what I did not need might save them, and when
no one was looking I slipped some choice bits from my plate between two
pieces of bread and made way with them into my pocket. I could not let
them be discovered for a soldier is too proud to beg, but oh, my lord,
he can bear being called a thief all his life better than he can dine
sumptuously while there is only black bread at home for the sick and
weak whom he loves!"

Tears came streaming from the old soldier's listeners by this time, and
each vied with the other in heaping honors and gifts in place of the
disgrace suffered so long; but all that was powerless to make up for the
past.

Two good lessons may be learned from the story: Never believe any one
guilty who is not really proved to be so. Never let false shame keep you
from confessing the truth, whether trifling or of importance.