sir; a plan of the bridge of Landshut, taken from the enemy this
morning at Moosburg.'

'Are they still there?' asked he.

'By this time they must be close upon Landshut; they were in full
retreat when I left them at daybreak.'

'We 'll be able to speak of the bridge without this,' said he, laughing,
and turning toward his staff, while he handed the sketch carelessly to
some one beside him; 'and you'll serve the Emperor quite as well, sir,
by coming with us as hastening to the rear.'

I professed myself ready and willing to follow his orders, and away I
went with the staff, well pleased to be once more on active service.

Two cannon shots, and a rattling crash of small-arms, told us that the
combat had begun; and as we ascended the hill, the bridge of Landshut
was seen on fire in three places. Either from some mistake of his
orders, or not daring to assume a responsibility for what was beyond the
strict line of duty, the French commander of the artillery placed his
guns in position along the river's bank, and prepared to reply to the
fire now opening from the town, instead of at once dashing onward within
the gates. Moulon hastened to repair the error; but by the delay in
pushing through the dense masses of horse, foot, and artillery that
crowded the passage, it was full twenty minutes ere he came up. With a
storm of oaths on the stupidity of the artillery colonel, he ordered the
firing to cease, commanding both the cavalry and the train waggons to
move right and left, and give place for a grenadier battalion, who were
coming briskly on with their muskets at the sling.

The scene was now a madly exciting one. The _chevaux defrise_ at one end
of the bridge was blazing; but beyond it, on the bridge, the Austrian
engineer and his men were scattering combustible material, and with
hempen torches touching the new-pitched timbers. An incessant roll of
musketry issued from the houses on the river-side, with now and then the
deeper boom of a large gun, while the roar of voices, and the crashing
noise of artillery passing through the streets, swelled into a fearful
chorus. The French sappers quickly removed the burning _chevaux de
frise_, and hurled the flaming timbers into the stream; and scarcely was
this done, when Moulon, dismounting, advanced, cheering, at the head of
his grenadiers. Charging over the burning bridge, they rushed
forward; but their way was arrested by the strong timbers of a massive
portcullis, which