1 There were fields of waving corn, green woods, and fruitful orchards. There were a pretty farmhouse and a few cottages—this was the plain of Waterloo. There, on a summer Sunday, many years ago, a momentous battle was fought. The British troops under the Duke of Wellington beat the French army, and broke the power of the great Napoleon forever.
2 “We have them,” cried Napoleon as he saw the British drawn up before him. He thought it would be easy to destroy this army. It was so much smaller than his own. It would all be over before their friends, the Prussians, who were on the way, came up. But he was mistaken.
3 Wellington had placed his foot-soldiers in squares. The French horsemen, then the finest soldiers in the world, charged again and again. But these little clumps of brave men stood fast.
4 On his favorite horse named “Copenhagen”, Wellington rode back and forth, cheering his men. “Stand firm, my lads,” cried he. “What will they say to this in England?”
5 When evening came, and the Prussians had arrived, Wellington finally allowed his troops to charge the French. Waving his cocked hat over his head, he gave the order, “The whole line will advance,” and the impatient troops dashed forward. The French bravely tried to stand against this terrific charge, but they were beaten back. The battle of Waterloo was ended.
6 Sixty thousand men lay dead or wounded under the fruit trees and among the trampled corn and grass at the end of that terrible day.
