ll ruined: Tempelhof says, "Daun's whole Front Line was
tumbled to pieces; disorder had, sympathetically, gone rearward, even
in those eastern parts; and on the western and northwestern the Prussian
Horse Regiments were now standing in its place." But, indeed, such
charging and recharging, pulsing and repulsing, has there been
hereabouts for hours past, the rival Hosts have got completely
interpenetrated; Austrian parties, or whole regiments, are to rear of
those Prussians who stand ranked here, and in victorious posture, as the
Night sinks. Night is now sinking on this murderous day: "Nothing more
to be made of it; try it again to-morrow!" thinks the King; gives Hulsen
charge of bivouacking and re-arranging these scattered people; and rides
with escort northwestward to Elsnig, north of Neiden, well to rear of
this bloody arena,--in a mood of mind which may be figured as gloomy
enough.

Daun, too, is home to Torgau,--1 think, a little earlier,--to have his
wound dressed, now that the day seems to him secure. Buccow, Daun's
second, is killed; Daun's third is an Irish Graf O'Donnell, memorable
only on this one occasion; to this O'Donnell, and to Lacy, who is firm
on his ground yonder, untouched all day, the charge of matters is left.
Which cannot be a difficult one, hopes Daun. Daun, while his wound is
dressing, speeds off a courier to Vienna. Courier did enter duly there,
with glorious trumpeting postilions, and universal Hep-hep-hurrah;
kindling that ardently loyal City into infinite triumph and
illumination,--for the space of certain hours following.

Hulsen meanwhile has been doing his best to get into proper bivouac for
the morrow; has drawn back those eastward horse regiments, drawn forward
the infantry battalions; forward, I think, and well rightward, where,
in the daytime, Daun's left flank was. On the whole, it is northwestward
that the general Prussian Bivouac for this night is; the extremest
SOUTHwestern-most portion of it is Infantry, under General Lestwitz;
a gallant useful man, who little dreams of becoming famous this dreary
uncertain night.

It is 6 o'clock. Damp dusk has thickened down into utter darkness, on
these terms:--when, lo, cannonade and musketade from the south,
audible in the Lestwitz-Hulsen quarters: seriously loud; red glow
of conflagration visible withal,--some unfortunate Village going up
("Village of Siptitz, think you?"); and need of Hulsen at his fastest!
Hulsen, with some readiest Fo