I shall
furnish the roast; and, that there may be something to drink, the
rain is pouring down from heaven as though all the little angels on
high were weeping for joy because they are to have the pleasure of
seeing old Blucher at work!--Glorious hosts in heaven!" added
Blucher, casting a glance at the leaden sky, "now do me only the
favor to put an end to your weeping, and do not give us too much of
a good thing. Pray remember that you put under water not only the
enemy, but ourselves, your friends. Do not soften the soil too much,
else not only the French will stick in the mud, but ourselves, your
chosen lifeguard!"
But "the little angels on high" poured down their "tears of joy" in
incessant torrents from early dawn. It was one of those continuous
rains from a dull gray sky, giving little hope of fine weather for
many days. The soil was softened, the mountain-torrents swollen, and
vast masses of water foamed into the Katzbach, so that this peaceful
little stream seemed a furious river. A violent norther was blowing,
and driving the rain into the faces of the soldiers, drenching their
uniforms, penetrating the muskets, and moistening the powder.
"Well, if the boys cannot shoot to-day, they will have to club their
muskets," said Blucher, cheerfully, when he and his suite rode out
of Bollwitzhof, his headquarters, to reconnoitre the position of the
French.
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