the battle was Prince Moritz von
Dessau, whom at the battle of Collin the king had threatened with his
sword, and with whom he had ever since been angry because his prophecy
proved true. But there was no anger now in the king's heart; and as he
had, in the presence of all his staff, threatened the prince, he wished
also in their presence to thank and reward him. The prince was at a
slight distance from him, so busily engaged in giving orders that he did
not perceive the king until he was quite close to him.

"I congratulate you upon this victory," said the king, in a loud
voice--"I congratulate you, field-marshal."

The prince bowed in a silent, absent manner, and continued to give his
orders.

The king, raising his voice, said: "Do you not hear, field-marshal? I
congratulate you!"

The prince looked hastily at the king. "How? Your majesty," said he,
doubtfully, "has appointed me--"

"My field-marshal," said the king, interrupting him. "And well have you
deserved this promotion; you have assisted me in this battle as I have
never before been assisted." He grasped the prince's hand and pressed
it tenderly, and there were tears of emotion not only in the eyes of the
new field-marshal, but also in those of the king.

A fearful day's work was finished--how fearful, could be seen by the
wounded, the dying lying pell-mell upon the battle-field amidst the
dead, too exhausted to move. But the day had passed. The cries
and shouts of the flying enemy had now ceased--the victory, the
battle-field, belonged to the Prussians. What was now most needed by
them was an hour's rest. Above the bloody battle-field, above the dying,
the sleeping, the groaning, the sighing, now rose the moon grandly,
solemnly, as if to console the dead and to lead the living to raise
their grateful prayers to heaven. And grateful praise ascended above
that night--thanks for the preservation of their own and their friends'
lives--thanks for their hero's victory. Side by side, whispering in low
tones, lay the soldiers--for the hour seemed to all too solemn to be
broken by any loud sound.

No hearts were so full of gratitude and joy as those of Charles Henry
Buschman and Fritz Kober. In the pressure of the battle they had been
separated and had not again met during the engagement. In vain they had
sought and called upon one another, and each one thought of the fearful
possibility that the other had fallen. At last they stumbled upon each
other. With s