Frederick the Great and His Family [156]
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 shouts of joy they rushed into each other's arms.
"You are not wounded, Fritz Kober?" said Charles Henry, with a beating heart.
"I am unharmed; but you, my friend?"
"Only a little cut in the hand, nothing more. How many prisoners did you take?"
"Seven, Charles Henry."
"You will be promoted! You will be an officer!"
"Not unless you are also. How many prisoners did you take?"
"I am not sure, Fritz; I think there were nine. But the captain will know."
"We will both be promoted, the king promised it, and now I am willing to accept it."
"But what is this to us now, my friend?" said Charles Henry; "we have found one another, and I am indifferent to all else."
"You are right, Charles Henry; this has been a fearful, a terrible day. My knees tremble beneath me--let us rest a while."
He laid himself upon the ground. Charles Henry knelt beside him, laying one hand upon his shoulder, and looked at the starry sky; a holy smile glorified his countenance. As he gazed at the moon, tender feelings were at work in his heart. He thought of his distant home--of the graves of his loved parents, upon which the moon was now shining as brightly as upon this bloody battle-field. He thought how kind and merciful God had been to preserve his friend, his only consolation, the one joy of his weary, lonesome life. The solemn stillness by which he was surrounded, the bright moon, light which illuminated the battle-field, the thought of the hard struggle of the past day, all acted strongly upon his feelings. The brave, daring soldier, Charles Henry Buschman, was once more transformed into the gentle, soft-hearted Anna Sophia Detzloff; now, when danger was past, she felt herself a weak, trembling woman. Deep, inexpressible emotion, earnest prayers to God, were busy in Anna Sophia's heart.
Kneeling upon the ground, resting on her friend, she raised her eyes heavenward, and commenced singing in an earnest, impassioned tone that glorious hymn, "Thanks unto God!" Fritz Kober, actuated by the same feelings, joined in the hymn, and here and there a comrade lent his voice
"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 shouts of joy they rushed into each other's arms.
"You are not wounded, Fritz Kober?" said Charles Henry, with a beating heart.
"I am unharmed; but you, my friend?"
"Only a little cut in the hand, nothing more. How many prisoners did you take?"
"Seven, Charles Henry."
"You will be promoted! You will be an officer!"
"Not unless you are also. How many prisoners did you take?"
"I am not sure, Fritz; I think there were nine. But the captain will know."
"We will both be promoted, the king promised it, and now I am willing to accept it."
"But what is this to us now, my friend?" said Charles Henry; "we have found one another, and I am indifferent to all else."
"You are right, Charles Henry; this has been a fearful, a terrible day. My knees tremble beneath me--let us rest a while."
He laid himself upon the ground. Charles Henry knelt beside him, laying one hand upon his shoulder, and looked at the starry sky; a holy smile glorified his countenance. As he gazed at the moon, tender feelings were at work in his heart. He thought of his distant home--of the graves of his loved parents, upon which the moon was now shining as brightly as upon this bloody battle-field. He thought how kind and merciful God had been to preserve his friend, his only consolation, the one joy of his weary, lonesome life. The solemn stillness by which he was surrounded, the bright moon, light which illuminated the battle-field, the thought of the hard struggle of the past day, all acted strongly upon his feelings. The brave, daring soldier, Charles Henry Buschman, was once more transformed into the gentle, soft-hearted Anna Sophia Detzloff; now, when danger was past, she felt herself a weak, trembling woman. Deep, inexpressible emotion, earnest prayers to God, were busy in Anna Sophia's heart.
Kneeling upon the ground, resting on her friend, she raised her eyes heavenward, and commenced singing in an earnest, impassioned tone that glorious hymn, "Thanks unto God!" Fritz Kober, actuated by the same feelings, joined in the hymn, and here and there a comrade lent his voice