"There are the French!" exclaimed Blucher.
"Boys, now bring in those marshals!" The cannon roared, the muskets
rattled, and, as though heaven desired to participate in this
struggle of the nations, the thunder rolled, and flashes of
lightning darted into the clouds of battle-smoke.
But who was galloping up suddenly on a charger covered with foam,
his hair fluttering in the breeze, and his face pale and terrified?
It was a Prussian colonel, and still he does not join in the
exultation of his countrymen. He approached Generals Blucher and
Gneisenau.
"Halloo! Lieutenant-Colonel von Muffling," shouted Blucher, "are you
back? Do you bring us greetings from Barclay de Tolly? Has he
finished the French? Well, we are just about to recommence our work
here--the last work for to-day."
"General," cried Muffling, anxiously, "the French will soon have
finished Barclay de Tolly, and defeated us! For he is unable to hold
out. He has only fifty thousand men, and Ney is attacking him with a
much larger force. Barclay sends me for reenforcements, and if we do
not strengthen his line, he cannot maintain himself on the Windmill-
knoll. In a quarter of an hour it will be in Ney's hands."
"No; in a quarter of an hour Ney will be in our hands," shouted
Blucher, confidently. "Ney is a marshal, and we must have him!
Boys," he cried, drawing himself up in his stirrups, and looking
back toward his troops--"boys, we must have Marshal Ney, must we
not?"
"Yes, Father Blucher, we must have Marshal Ney!"
Heaven responded with a loud clap of thunder, the earth was shaken
by the booming of the cannon, the air was rent by the cheers of the
living, and the groans and imprecations of the wounded and dying.
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