Holding with his uninjured left arm to
the saddle, he raised himself slowly. The effort caused the blood to
trickle in large drops from the wound in his forehead, which he
disregarded under the joyful feeling that he had risen again from his
death-bed, and that he was still living and breathing. For a moment he
leaned faint and exhausted against the horse as a couch; and feeling a
burning thirst, a devouring hunger, his dark, flaming eyes wandered
around as if seeking for a refreshing drink for his parched palate, or a
piece of bread to appease his hunger.
But his eye everywhere met only stiffened corpses, and the misery and
horror of a deserted battle-field. He knew that no food could be found,
as the soldiers had not, for two days, either bread or liquor in their
knapsacks. Hunger had been the ally that had paved the way for the
French emperor--it had debilitated the Prussians and broken their
courage.
"I must leave the battle-field," murmured the wounded soldier; "I must
save myself while I have sufficient strength; otherwise I shall die of
hunger. Oh, my God, give me strength to escape from so horrible a death!
Strengthen my feet for this terrible walk!"
He cast a single fiery glance toward heaven, one in which his whole soul
was expressed, and then set out on his walk. He moved along slowly and
with tottering steps amid the rows of corpses, some of which were still
quivering and moaning, as death drew near, while others writhed and
wailed with their wounds.
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