d of Zorndorf. Luckier if it had!
But there is no crossing of the Mutzel, there is only drowning in the
quagmires there:--death any way; what can be done but die?

The Russian infantry stand to be sabred, in the above manner, as if
they had been dead oxen. More remote from Seidlitz, they break open
the sutlers' brandy-casks, and in few minutes get roaring drunk. Their
officers, desperate, split the brandy-casks; soldiers flap down to drink
it from the puddles; furiously remonstrate with their officers, and
"kill a good many of them" (VIELE, says Tielcke), especially the
foreign sort. "A frightful blood-bath," by all the Accounts: blood-bath,
brandy-bath, and chief Nucleus of Chaos then extant aboveground. Fermor
is swept away: this chaos, the very Prussians drawing back from it,
wearied with massacring, lasts till about one o'clock. Up to the
Gallows-ground the Minotaur is mere wreck and delirium: but beyond the
Gallows-ground, the other half forms a new front to itself; becomes a
new Minotaur, though in reduced shape. This is Part First of the Battle
of Zorndorf; Friedrich--on the edge of great disaster at one moment, but
miraculously saved--has still the other half to do (unlucky that he left
no Bridges on the Mutzel), and must again change his program.

Half of the Minotaur is gone to shreds in this manner; but the attack
upon it, too, is spent: what is to be done with the other half of the
monster, which is again alive; which still stands, and polypus-like
has arranged a new life for itself, a new front against the Galgengrund
yonder? Friedrich brings his right wing into action. Rapidly arranges
right wing, centre, all of the left that is disposable, with batteries,
with cavalry; for an attack on the opposite or southeastern end of
his monster. If your monster, polypus-like, come alive again in the
tail-part, you must fell that other head of him. Batteries, well in
advance, begin work upon the new head of the monster, which was once
his tail; fresh troops, long lines of them, pushing forward to begin
platoon-volleying:--time now, I should guess, about half-past two. Our
infantry has not yet got within musket-range,--when torrents of Russian
Horse, Foot too following, plunge out; wide-flowing, stormfully swift;
and dash against the coming attack. Dash against it; stagger it;
actually tumble it back, in the centre part; take one of the batteries,
and a whole battalion prisoners. Here again is a moment! Friedrich,
the