and had beaten them all
off. Mitchell, by magnanimous choice of his own, has been in many Fights
by the side of Friedrich; but this is the last he will ever be in or
near;--this miraculous one of Liegnitz, 3 to 4.30 A.M., Friday, August
15th, 1760.

Never did such a luck befall Friedrich before or after. He was clinging
on the edge of slippery abysses, his path hardly a foot's-breadth, mere
enemies and avalanches hanging round on every side: ruin likelier at no
moment, of his life;--and here is precisely the quasi-miracle which
was needed to save him. Partly by accident too; the best of management
crowned by the luckiest of accidents. [Tempelhof, iv. 151-171;
Archenholtz, ubi supra; HO BERICHT VON DER SCHLACHT SO AM 15 AUGUST,
1760, BEY LIEGNITZ, VORGEFALLEN (Seyfarth, _Beylagen,_ ii. 696-703); &c.
&c.]

Friedrich rested four hours on the Battle-field,--if that could be
called rest, which was a new kind of diligence highly wonderful.
Diligence of gathering up accurately the results of the Battle; packing
them into portable shape; and marching off with them in one's pocket,
so to speak. Major-General Saldern had charge of this, a man of many
talents; and did it consummately. The wounded, Austrian as well as
Prussian, are placed in the empty meal-wagons; the more slightly wounded
are set on horseback, double in possible cases: only the dead are left
lying: 100 or more meal-wagons are left, their teams needed for drawing
our 82 new cannon;--the wagons we split up, no Austrians to have them;
usable only as firewood for the poor Country-folk. The 4 or 5,000 good
muskets lying on the field, shall not we take them also? Each cavalry
soldier slings one of them across his back, each baggage driver one:
and the muskets too are taken care of. About 9 A.M., Friedrich, with
his 6,000 prisoners, new cannon-teams, sick-wagon teams, trophies,
properties, is afoot again. One of the succinctest of Kings.

I should have mentioned the joy of poor Regiment Bernburg; which
rather affected me. Loudon gone, the miracle of Battle done, and this
miraculous packing going on,--Friedrich riding about among his people,
passed along the front of Bernburg, the eye of him perhaps intimating,
"I saw you, BURSCHE;" but no word coming from him. The Bernburg
Officers, tragically tressless in their hats, stand also silent, grim as
blackened stones (all Bernburg black with gunpowder): "In us also is
no word; unless our actions perhaps speak?" But a certa