houts of joy they rushed into each other's arms.

"You are not wounded, Fritz Kober?" said Charles Henry, with a beating
heart.

"I am unharmed; but you, my friend?"

"Only a little cut in the hand, nothing more. How many prisoners did you
take?"

"Seven, Charles Henry."

"You will be promoted! You will be an officer!"

"Not unless you are also. How many prisoners did you take?"

"I am not sure, Fritz; I think there were nine. But the captain will
know."

"We will both be promoted, the king promised it, and now I am willing to
accept it."

"But what is this to us now, my friend?" said Charles Henry; "we have
found one another, and I am indifferent to all else."

"You are right, Charles Henry; this has been a fearful, a terrible day.
My knees tremble beneath me--let us rest a while."

He laid himself upon the ground. Charles Henry knelt beside him, laying
one hand upon his shoulder, and looked at the starry sky; a holy smile
glorified his countenance. As he gazed at the moon, tender feelings were
at work in his heart. He thought of his distant home--of the graves of
his loved parents, upon which the moon was now shining as brightly as
upon this bloody battle-field. He thought how kind and merciful God had
been to preserve his friend, his only consolation, the one joy of his
weary, lonesome life. The solemn stillness by which he was surrounded,
the bright moon, light which illuminated the battle-field, the thought
of the hard struggle of the past day, all acted strongly upon his
feelings. The brave, daring soldier, Charles Henry Buschman, was once
more transformed into the gentle, soft-hearted Anna Sophia Detzloff;
now, when danger was past, she felt herself a weak, trembling woman.
Deep, inexpressible emotion, earnest prayers to God, were busy in Anna
Sophia's heart.

Kneeling upon the ground, resting on her friend, she raised her eyes
heavenward, and commenced singing in an earnest, impassioned tone that
glorious hymn, "Thanks unto God!" Fritz Kober, actuated by the same
feelings, joined in the hymn, and here and there a comrade lent his
voice to swell the anthem; it became stronger, louder, until at last,
like a mighty stream, it passed over the battle-field, knocking at every
heart, and urging it to prayer, finding everywhere an open ear.

The moon stood smiling above the battle-field, upon which eight thousand
dead and wounded men were lying. Even the wounded, who a short time
before filled the air w