The battle was long and desperate. The right wing of the Russian army was finally driven into a swamp, surrounded, and hewn down by the Prussians, scarcely a man escaping; while the left, eager to avenge their slaughtered brethren, made a most furious onslaught. But, notwithstanding their desperate courage, they were driven back, and obliged to quit the field.
The ammunition was all exhausted upon both sides, and the fight was hand to hand, with sword and bayonet, when the night came on and put an end to the bloody strife. The Prussians awaited its renewal with the coming dawn, for Count Fermor had drawn up his men in order beyond the swamp; but, after lingering in the neighborhood during the whole of the next day, he finally withdrew with his army towards Poland, leaving twenty thousand dead upon the field of battle.
A few days after the occurrences just related, a lively scene was passing in a little town not far from Berlin. The streets were crowded with people, especially the market-place, with its tall, neat houses, whose polished window-panes shone clearly in the bright sunlight. It was Sunday. Well-dressed dames and young maidens, with their hymn-books in their folded hands, and their eyes cast modestly upon the ground, were hastening to the open churches, while their husbands and brothers gathered in groups before the doors to enjoy a little neighborly conversation. The deeds of the great king were upon every tongue; the last battle was variously discussed, and many an honest burgher, who had never passed the limits of his own little town, thought himself quite wise and experienced enough to play the critic.
"Ah, good morning to you, brother!" cried the stout grocer Bolt to his brother-in-law, Doctor Heller, who at this moment came down the street, accompanied by two other citizens of the town. "Whither away so fast? Won't you step in and breakfast with me? I will give you a glass of beer that can't be matched. I never drank better in my whole life; and that is saying a great deal, for many and many's the brewing that I have tasted!"
"Thank you, my good friend," replied the doctor, as he heartily shook his brother's hand; "thank you, but I must accompany these gentlemen immediately, notwithstanding your enticing offer of beer. But, my old friend, you will keep it until evening, when I can come in and share it with you, will you not? You see I am bound to the hospital. The last battle cost many a poor fellow a broken head, and several of the wounded soldiers are to be brought here, because the nearer hospitals are all filled to overflowing. If I am not mistaken, we are to have a Russian, too, upon our hands, to be taken care of."
"Thunder and lightning!" blustered the grocer. "A Russian! Are we to entertain and nurse our worst enemies? That is too bad. I would rather let a whole regiment of Austrians, Frenchmen, Saxons, or whatever names the rascals may be called by, range at will through my house, than harbor a single Russian. They are worse than savages, and more cruel than the fiercest wild beasts. Yes, indeed, my good brother, you had better keep your Russian far enough away from my clutches!"
"Come, come!" said the doctor, soothingly, "I too hate the Russians with all my heart, but we must feel as human beings, even towards our enemies; and the poor fellow they will send us here can do us no harm. He may have lost a leg or an arm, and even if his wounds be not severe—"
"What! the Devil!" interrupted Bolt. "If my leg or my arm had been shot off, that would have been the end of me. But surely these Russians are not made of the same flesh and blood as we Germans! I will lay you a wager now, whatever you please, that without either arms or legs they would burn the houses over our heads. But look! How lively the burgomaster's granddaughter is to-day! Your servant, Miss Ella!"