sand of Bluecher's troops in
check; while toward Wachau a hundred and fifteen thousand French were
engaged with two hundred thousand Austrians and Russians. More than
fifteen hundred cannon were thundering at once. Our poor little
fusillade was like the humming of a bee in a storm, and we sometimes
ceased firing, on both sides, to listen. It seemed as if some
supernatural, infernal battle were going on; the air was filled with
smoke; the earth trembled beneath our feet: our soldiers like Pinto
declared they had never seen anything like it.

About six o'clock, a staff-officer brought orders to Colonel Lorain,
and immediately after a retreat was sounded. The battalion had lost
sixty men by the charge of Russian hussars and the musketry.

It was night when we left the forest, and on the banks of the
Partha--among caissons, wagons, retreating divisions, ambulances filled
with wounded, all defiling over the two bridges--we had to wait more
than two hours for our turn to cross. The heavens were black; the
artillery still growled afar off, but the three battles were ended. We
heard that we had beaten the Austrians and the Russians at Wachau, on
the other side of Leipzig; but our men returning from Mockern were
downcast and gloomy; not a voice cried _Vive l'Empereur!_ as after a
victory.

Once on the other side of the river, the battalion proceeded down the
Partha a good half-league, as far as the village of Schoenfeld; the
night was damp; we marched along heavily, our muskets on our shoulders,
our heads bent down, and our eyes closing for want of sleep.

Behind us the great column of cannon, caissons, baggage-wagons and
troops retreating from Mockern filled the air with a hoarse murmur, and
from time to time the cries of the artillerymen and teamsters, shouting
to make room, arose above the tumult. But these noises insensibly grew
less, and we at length reached a burial-ground, where we were ordered
to stack arms and break ranks.

By this time the sky had cleared, and I recognized Schoenfeld in the
moonlight. How often had I eaten bread and drank white wine with
Zimmer there at the Golden Sheaf, when the sun shone brightly and the
leaves were green around! But those times had passed!

Sentries were posted, and a few men went to the village for wood and
provisions. I sat against the cemetery wall, and at length fell
asleep. About three o'clock in the morning, I was awoke.

It was Zebede. "Joseph," said he, "