officers fall; all which only redoubles their fury.
They excite each other to avenge these deaths,
and rush down upon their enemies with the rage
of the African, and the fanaticism of the
Mussulman, massacring them with the frenzy of
bloodthirsty tigers. The Croats throw
themselves on the ground, hide in ditches, allow
their adversaries to come close upon them, and
then suddenly starting up, shoot them dead
point blank.

At San Martino, an officer of Bersaglieri,
Captain Pallavicini, is wounded. His soldiers
take him in their arms and carry him to a chapel,
where his wounds receive a slight dressing.
But the Austrians, repulsed for a moment,
return to the charge, and force their way into
the chapel. The Bersaglieri, too few in number
to resist, abandon their chief. Immediately, the
Croats, seizing big stones which they find at the
door, beat in the captain's skull. Their tunics
are bespattered with his brains.

A sub-lieutenant of the line has his left arm
broken by a Biscayan, and the blood flows
abundantly from his wound. Sitting under a
tree, he is taken aim at by a Hungarian soldier.
But the assailant is stopped by one of his officers,
who, drawing near to the young Frenchman,
compassionately takes his hand, and orders him
to be carried to a less dangerous spot.

The cantinières (female sutlers) advance, like
well-seasoned troopers, under the enemy's fire.
They raise the poor wounded soldiers, who
eagerly beg for water, and they are themselves
wounded while administering drink and applying
bandages. Perhaps these heroic women are
the same afterwards burnt by the Mexicans (on
the 9th of June, 1862), fastened by chains to
powder-carts.

Horses, more humane than their riders, at
every step avoid treading underfoot, the victims
of this furious and frenzied battle. An officer
of the Foreign Legion is laid low by a bullet.
His dog, warmly attached to him, whom he
had brought from Algeria, and who was the
favourite of the whole battalion, was by his
side. Carried on by the rush of the troops,
he also is struck by a bullet, a few paces
further; but he summons strength enough to drag
himself back again, and die upon his master's
body. In another regiment, a goat, adopted by
a voltigeur and petted by his comrades, mounts
with impunity to the assault of Solferino
through a heavy shower of grape-shot and
bullets.

What multitudes of brave soldiers are not
arrested by their first wound, but continue to
march forward until a second shot prostrates
them, and renders them impotent for further
strife! Elsewhere, whole battalions, exposed
to a murderous fire, are obliged to await, motionless,
the order to advance, and are forced to
remain quiet spectators, boiling with impatience.

III. THE PRICE OF THE ORGIE.

NATURE can bear the horrid spectacle no
longer. The sky is darkened; thick clouds
obscure the horizon; the winds are let loose
with fury, and break the branches of the
trees. A cold rain, driven by the hurricane,
or rather a veritable water-spout, deluges the
combatants, already exhausted by hunger and
fatigue, at the same time that gusts and whirlwinds
of dust blind the soldiers, who thus have
the elements for their common enemy. The
Austrians, beaten by the storm, nevertheless
rally at the voice of their officers; but, at about
five o'clock, human fury on both sides is
forcibly suspended by torrents of rain, by hail,
lightning, thunder, and darkness.

During the whole of the action, the head of
the house of Hapsburg displays remarkable
calmness and presence of mind; but as there is no
longer any hope of forcing the position of the
allies, a general retreat is ordered. Worse than
that, at several points panic seizes the German
troops; with some regiments, retreat is changed
into utter rout. In vain their officers, who have
fought like lions, try to restrain them. Exhortations,
insults, sabre-strokes—nothing can stop
them. The very soldiers who have bravely borne
the brunt of the battle, now prefer to let
themselves be struck and railed at, rather than not run
away. The Emperor of Austria is in deep despair.
While contemplating this scene of desolation,
tears stream down his cheeks. His aides-de-camp
have great difficulty in persuading him to quit
Volta and proceed to Valeggio. The Austrian
officers, in their consternation, expose themselves
to death, out of rage and despair. Several kill
themselves in the intensity of their grief, not
choosing to survive their fatal defeat. The
majority only rejoin the regiments, covered with
their own or their enemies' blood.

The Austrian stragglers were got together
and conducted to Valeggio. The roads were
covered, either with baggage belonging to the
different troops, or with the equipages of bridges
and artillery reserves, which crowded together
and upset one another in their hurry to reach the
narrow passage of Valeggio. Much was saved by
the rapid construction of flying bridges. The
first convoys, composed of men but slightly
wounded, began to enter Villafranca; the more
seriously wounded soldiers followed them; and
throughout the whole of this sad night, the
arrivals were enormous in number. The doctors
dressed their wounds, supported them with a
little refreshment, and sent them on by railway
to Verona, where the crowd became frightful.
But, although the army in its retreat took with
it all the wounded it could possibly transport in
the vehicles at its command, what numbers of
unfortunates were left abandoned on the
blood-sodden ground!

Towards the close of the day, when the shades
of twilight were stealing over the vast field of
carnage, not a few French officers and soldiers
sought, here and there, a countryman, a
compatriot, a friend. If they found an acquaintance,
they knelt beside him, tried to revive him,
pressed his hand, stanched his blood, or bound
a handkerchief round his fractured limb; but no
water was to be had to refresh the poor sufferer.
What floods of silent tears were shed that