and the abundance before their eyes lay the enemy’s army, and this army they must conquer, if they would sit at those tables and lie in the soft beds.  The general wanted to take Dijon in order to remove a danger menacing to South Germany, and to secure the advance of the German army toward Paris and Belfort—­the soldiers had the same desire, but their longing for Dijon was for comfort, satisfaction of hunger, and rest.

The German battalion kept on pressing forward.  This mistake was hardly the fault of the officers, who on this occasion strove to keep the men back rather than encourage them to advance.  The Garibaldian troops had the advantages of superior forces, a greater range of artillery, and sheltered position in the hills, and they pressed with increased courage to the attack.  The Germans did not await them quietly but threw themselves on them, so that in many cases it came to a hand-to-hand fight, and serious work was done with bayonets and the butt-ends of rifles.  At length the French began to retreat, and the Germans with loud “Hurrahs!” flung themselves after them.  But the pursuit was soon abandoned, as they had to withdraw under the fire from the Talant and Fontaine positions, and then, after a short rest, the French again advanced.  So the fight lasted for three hours, the snowflakes dispersed by the balls, the men stamping their half-frozen feet on the ground, stained in so many places with blood, but the distance between the German battalion and beckoning, mocking Dijon never diminished.  The right wing of the brigade made a strenuous attempt, pressed hard toward Plombieres, forced the Garibaldians back at the point of the bayonet, and took possession of the village, which already had been stormed from house to house.  The sight of the slopes before Plombieres covered with the enemy running, sliding, or rolling, acted like strong drink; the whole German line threw itself on the yielding enemy before it had time to regain breath, and amid the thunder of artillery, with the balls from the French reserves on the heights rattling like hailstones, it gained at last a footing on the hill.  Some of the troops sank down exhausted in the shelter of the little huts which were strewed over the vineyard, while others followed the division of the enemy which had forced itself between the mountain and the narrow valley behind the French line of defense.

It was now night, and very dark, and to follow up the hard-won victory was not to be thought of, so the German troops halted to rest if possible for an hour.  It was a terrible night, and the cold was intense.  Campfires were almost useless.  The men’s clothes were insufficient and nearly worn out.  During the last few days, on the march and in the camp, every one had huddled together whatever seemed warmest, and in the pale moon or starlight, figures in strange disguises might be seen.  One wore the thick wadded cloak of a peasant woman over woefully torn trousers, another whose toes till now