ursuit, even after the victory! The Russian
batteries continued their fire to the last. The cannoneers were cut
down beside their guns, and the cavalry made repeated charges on our
advancing squadrons; nor was it till late in the day they fell back,
leaving two thirds of their force dead or wounded on the field of
battle.

On every side now were to be seen the flying columns of the allies,
hotly followed by the victorious French. The guns still thundered at
intervals; but the loud roar of battle was subdued to the crashing din
of charging squadrons, and the distant cries of the vanquishers and
the vanquished. Around and about lay the wounded in all the fearful
attitudes of suffering; and as we were fully a league in advance of our
original position, no succor had yet arrived for the poor fellows whose
courage had carried them into the very squares of the enemy.

Most of the staff--myself among the number--were despatched to the rear
for assistance. I remember, as I rode along at my fastest speed, between
the columns of infantry and the fragments of artillery which covered
the grounds, that a _peloton_ of dragoons came thundering past, while a
voice shouted out "Place! place!" Supposing it was the Emperor himself,
I drew up to one side, and uncovering my head, sat in patience till he
had passed, when, with the speed of four horses urged to their utmost,
a caleche flew by, two men dressed like couriers seated on the box.
They made for the highroad towards Vienna, and soon disappeared in the
distance.

"What can it mean?" said I, to an officer beside me; "not his Majesty,
surely?"

"No, no," replied he, smiling: "it is General Lebrun on his way to Paris
with the news of the victory. The Emperor is down at Reygern yonder,
where he has just written the bulletin. I warrant you he follows that
caleche with his eye; he'd rather see a battery of guns carried off by
the enemy than an axle break there this moment."

Thus closed the great day of Austerlitz--a hundred cannons, forty-three
thousand prisoners, and thirty-two colors being the spoils of this the
greatest of even Napoleon's victories.

CHAPTER IV. THE FIELD AT MIDNIGHT.

We passed the night on the field of battle,--a night dark and starless.
The heavens were, indeed, clothed with black, and a heavy atmosphere,
lowering and gloomy, spread like a pall over the dead and the dying. Not
a breath of air moved; and the groans of the wounded sighed through the
still