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The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Narrative of Gordon Sellar Who Emigrated to Canada in 1825, by Gordon Sellar This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net Title: The Narrative of Gordon Sellar Who Emigrated to Canada in 1825 Author: Gordon Sellar Release Date: March 9, 2005 [EBook #15307] Language: English Character set encoding: ASCII *** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE NARRATIVE OF GORDON *** Produced by Wallace McLean, Martin Pettit and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team. [Illustration: Frontispiece.] The Narrative of +Gordon Sellar+ who Emigrated to Canada in 1825 HUNTINGDON, QUE. THE GLEANER BOOK ROOM 1915 _Copyright, Canada, by Robert Sellar, 1915._ +GORDON SELLAR+ CHAPTER I. While my mother was a servant in Glasgow she married a soldier. I have only a faint remembrance of my father, of a tall man in a red coat coming to see us in the afternoons and tossing me up and down to the ceiling. I was in my fourth year when his regiment was hurried to Belgium to fight Bonaparte. One day there rose a shouting in the streets, it was news of a great victory, the battle of Waterloo. At night mother took me to Argyle street to see the illuminations, and I never forgot the blaze of lights and the great crowd, cheering. At the Cross there were men with bottles, drinking the health of Wellington. When my mother caught me up to get past the drunken men she was shivering. Long afterwards, when I was able to put two and two together I understood it was her fear of what had happened father. She went often to the barracks to ask if any word had come, but except that the regiment was in the thick of the fight they could tell nothing. It might be three weeks after the battle that a sergeant came to our room. Mother was out working He left a paper on the table and went away. When mother came home late, she snatched the paper up, gave a cry that I hear yet, and taking me in her arms fell on the bed and sobbed as if her heart would break. I must have asked her what had happened, for I recall her squeezing me tighter to her bosom and saying My fatherless boy. Long after, I met a comrade of my father, who told me he acted brav
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