at the point of the bayonet,
and took possession of the village, which already had been stormed from
house to house. The sight of the slopes before Plombieres covered with
the enemy running, sliding, or rolling, acted like strong drink; the
whole German line threw itself on the yielding enemy before it had time
to regain breath, and amid the thunder of artillery, with the balls
from the French reserves on the heights rattling like hailstones, it
gained at last a footing on the hill. Some of the troops sank down
exhausted in the shelter of the little huts which were strewed over the
vineyard, while others followed the division of the enemy which had
forced itself between the mountain and the narrow valley behind the
French line of defense.

It was now night, and very dark, and to follow up the hard-won victory
was not to be thought of, so the German troops halted to rest if
possible for an hour. It was a terrible night, and the cold was
intense. Campfires were almost useless. The men's clothes were
insufficient and nearly worn out. During the last few days, on the
march and in the camp, every one had huddled together whatever seemed
warmest, and in the pale moon or starlight, figures in strange
disguises might be seen. One wore the thick wadded cloak of a peasant
woman over woefully torn trousers, another whose toes till now had
always been seen out of noisy boots, stalked in enormous wooden shoes,
the extra room being filled up with hay and straw. Overcoats from the
French and German dead had been taken, and were useful for replenishing
outfits--particularly when a German soldier wore red trousers, and the
braided fur coat of the fantastic Garbaldian uniform. Many others had
bed-clothing and horse-coverings, carpets and curtains, one even went
so far as to wear an altar-cloth from some poor village church over his
shoulders, and those who still had pocket-handkerchiefs in their
possession wore them tied over their ears. Many, however, had nothing
but their own torn uniforms, and these tried hard to get warm by
rolling themselves close against one another like dogs. The dark masses
lay there all among the trodden and half-frozen snow stained with
blood, sand, and clay, huddled together one on the top of the other,
and if their labored breathing had not been heard, one could hardly
have told whether one stood by living men or dead--the dead indeed lay
near, many hundreds of them, singly and in groups, scarcely more
cram