unconsciously.  Among the greater part, however, the fighting Prussian instinct prevailed, impelling the soldiers forward and never back, and so with renewed shouts they pressed on.  But only for a few minutes.  The colors flew upward again, raised by hands wearied to death, only to fall again at once.  Three times—­four times the flag emerged, sinking again and again, and each flutter meant a new sacrifice, and each fall the death of a hero.  Soon there was no one left standing, no man and no standard, nothing but a gray heap of bodies, whose limbs palpitated and moved like some fabulous sea creature, making groaning, ghostly sounds.  Ten or twelve poor fellows wounded by stray shots sheltered themselves in the sandpit without weapons, with staring eyes and distorted features.  That was all there was left of the Fifth company.

There was deathly silence in the sandpit; the firing had ceased for some minutes.  The soldiers looked at one another, and at the mountain of human bodies before them in the evening twilight, and threw doubtful glances at the handful of men just returned, lying exhausted on the ground.  Suddenly the major called out: 

“The colors!”

“The colors!” murmured several men, while others remained silent.

“We must search for them under the wounded,” said the major sadly.

His glance strayed right and left, and seemed to invite volunteers among the twenty or thirty who were nearest to him.  The little band cautiously left their shelter, and set diligently to work on the hill of dead bodies.  But in spite of the growing darkness they were observed by the French, who began their fire anew, and a few minutes later no living soul was left on the field.

The captain and Wilhelm were now the only remaining officers of the battalion.  The former cried:  “Who—­will volunteer?” and was surrounded by a dozen brave fellows.  Wilhelm was not among them.  He stood leaning on his sword against the half-frozen side of the pit, observing with sorrowful expression what was going on around him.  The captain threw him a strange look, in which contempt and reproach were mingled, then he drew out his watch, as if to note the last moment of his life, and with the cry “Forward!” disappeared in the evening light.  He did not reach the spot where the corpses lay thickest.  The factory went on spitting fire, and crashing everything down over the heap.  The shots, however, came more slowly, and pauses came between them.  A shriek was heard, not far distant.  Evidently it was one of the wounded who lay on the ground.  At the same time a form could be distinguished raising itself up and then sinking again.  Heedless of the balls which whistled round his ears, Wilhelm raised his head out of the sandpit and looked over the field.  Then he worked himself out on his hands and knees, and to the astonishment of the soldiers in the pit moved away toward the wounded, alone and without hurry or excitement.  Over there on the other side they