586 
SOME SITES OF BATTLE. 
The battery which had crossed before them was still in action, 
sheltered somewhat by an orchard wall. It was just like a field bat¬ 
tery getting behind a wall while the Horse Artillery had fought it out 
in the open, so Hans thought. And now, from across the ravine, 
echoing out above the dim and whirr of battle, a great roar arose, a roar 
from ten thousand throats. The hollow road was black with multi¬ 
tudes of men. The rigid bonds of German discipline, strained by the 
excitement of what had gone before, had snapped asunder at the sight 
of the shattered remnants of the battery defiling slowly back out of the 
very heart of the enemy’s position. Louder and ever louder rang the 
cheers. Hans had reached the foot of the hill and moved out on the 
embankment. It was here, just on this very spot, he remembered, they 
had ridden down the Uhlan. There were only a few more yards to go 
to reach the hollow road. Some were rushing out to meet him, and 
one or two were already at the wheels. But Gretchen of a sudden 
lurched forward with a kind of groan, gave a feeble struggle or two, 
and then crashed down upon her side. Mechanically Hans set to work 
to get her clear, he knew her race was run. He vainly strove with 
trembling fingers to undo the buckles. Everything was twisted and 
disordered, and he had no knife to cut the gear. Then he felt a great 
shock which knocked him sprawling in the road, and knew that he was 
hit. He staggered to his feet. Somebody—a Jager , he had a green 
sleeve—seized him by the arm and got him along. Another helped him 
on the other side. Now they were surging all around him, pressing 
and fighting to grip his hand. They tried to lift him shoulder-high, 
unmindful of his wound. Kings might have envied Hans his welcome. 
But all seemed very far away to him, everything was swimming before 
his eyes, the very ground appeared to heave. The thundrous “Hochs” 
buzzed strangely in his ears. Almost as in a dream he saw the throng 
make way a moment for a grim and grey old man, who stepped up to 
him with something like a quiver on his lip. Instinctively he pulled 
himself together to salute. And then he knew no more about it all till 
he was brought to in the dark watches of the night by a doctor man 
prodding inside of him with something sharp. It had been a big day 
for Hans, and Germany. 
The French say of us, or, perhaps, it is we who say it of ourselves, 
that we never know when we are beaten. This confidence, especially 
when coupled with the power of inspiring it in followers, is one of the 
most valuable qualities that a leader can possess. No general has dis¬ 
played more markedly this characteristic than Napoleon. And never 
did it serve him so well as on the battle-field where he won the crown 
of France, Marengo. 
The seldom visited battle-field of Marengo does not lend itself to 
tactical study on the ground. It is the place rather for the sight-seer 
than the soldier. The topography is featureless. A plain studded here 
and there with villages, a few great roads, some scattered vineyards, a 
tree or two, and that is all. The sluggish Fontanone brook, marking 
the line which Lannes and Victor held so stoutly in the morning, 
serves as a guide at first when driving out from Alessandria ; but, except 
for the villages of Oastel Ceriolo and Marengo, both held at the outset 
by the French, and San Giuliano four miles to the east, there is next 
to nothing one could show upon a map. 
