"Well," he said, in a loud and menacing voice, "I shall defend my life
at least to the best of my ability; the hateful enemies shall not
capture me as long as I am alive. Forward, then; forward with God! He
will not desert a faithful soldier!"
And supporting himself on his sabre, as if it were a staff, the officer
walked on. Everywhere he met with the same signs of war and destruction;
everywhere he beheld corpses, blood-stained cannon-balls, or muskets,
which the fugitives had thrown away.
"Oh, for a drop of water!" groaned the officer, while slowly crossing
the field; "my lips are parched!"
Tottering and reeling, with the aid of his sabre, and by his firm,
energetic will, and the resolution of his spirit, he succeeded once more
in overcoming the weakness of his body.
He hastened on with quicker steps, and hope now lent wings to his feet,
for yonder, in the rear of the shrubbery, he beheld a house; men were
there, assistance also.
At length, after untold efforts, and a terrible struggle with his pain
and exhaustion, he reached the peasant's house. Looking up with longing
eyes to the windows, he shouted: "Oh, give me a drink of water! Have
mercy on a wounded soldier!"
But no voice responded; no human face appeared behind the small green
windows. Every thing remained silent and deserted.
With a deep sigh, and an air of bitter disappointment depicted on his
features, he murmured:
"My feet cannot carry me any farther.
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