nger than ever were heard of a great battle soon to
be fought by the reinforcements which were known to have joined the
Russian army. And I think that no one was much surprised when one
pleasant August morning, at early dawn, heavy firing was heard towards
the French position on the right, by the Tchernaya, and the stream of
troops and on-lookers poured from all quarters in that direction.
Prepared and loaded as usual, I was soon riding in the same direction,
and saw the chief part of the morning's battle. I saw the Russians
cross and recross the river. I saw their officers cheer and wave them
on in the coolest, bravest manner, until they were shot down by
scores. I was near enough to hear at times, in the lull of artillery,
and above the rattle of the musketry, the excited cheers which told of
a daring attack or a successful repulse; and beneath where I stood I
could see--what the Russians could not--steadily drawn up, quiet and
expectant, the squadrons of English and French cavalry, calmly yet
impatiently waiting until the Russians' partial success should bring
their sabres into play. But the contingency never happened; and we saw
the Russians fall slowly back in good order, while the dark-plumed
Sardinians and red-pantalooned French spread out in pursuit, and
formed a picture so excitingly beautiful that we forgot the suffering
and death they left behind. And then I descended with the rest into
the field of battle.

It was a fearful scene; but why repeat this remark. All death is
trying to witness--even that of the good man who lays down his life
hopefully and peacefully; but on the battle-field, when the poor body
is torn and rent in hideous ways, and the scared spirit struggles to
loose itself from the still strong frame that holds it tightly to the
last, death is fearful indeed. It had come peacefully enough to some.
They lay with half-opened eyes, and a quiet smile about the lips that
showed their end to have been painless; others it had arrested in the
heat of passion, and frozen on their pallid faces a glare of hatred
and defiance that made your warm blood run cold. But little time had
we to think of the dead, whose business it was to see after the dying,
who might yet be saved. The ground was thickly cumbered with the
wounded, some of them calm and resigned, others impatient and
restless, a few filling the air with their cries of pain--all wanting
water, and grateful to those who administered it, and more subs