Everything else, except a little ammunition in the trenches, had been carried away, and it was plain to see, from the good shape in which the French left wing had retired to Metz, that its retreat had been predetermined by the disasters to the right wing.

By this hour the German cavalry having been thrown out to the front well over toward Metz, we, following it to get a look at the city, rode to a neighboring summit, supposing it would be a safe point of observation; but we shortly realized the contrary, for scarcely had we reached the crest when some of the French pickets, lying concealed about six hundred yards off, opened fire, making it so very hot for us that, hugging the necks of our horses, we incontinently fled.  Observing what had taken place, a troop of German cavalry charged the French outpost and drove it far enough away to make safe our return, and we resumed possession of the point, but only to discover that the country to the east was so broken and hilly that no satisfactory view of Metz could be had.

Returning to Gravelotte, we next visited that part of the battlefield to the northeast of the village, and before long Count Bismarck discovered in a remote place about twenty men dreadfully wounded.  These poor fellows had had no attention whatever, having been overlooked by the hospital corps, and their condition was most pitiful.  Yet there was one very handsome man in the group—­a captain of artillery—­who, though shot through the right breast, was talkative and cheerful, and felt sure of getting well.  Pointing, however, to a comrade lying near, also shot in the breast, he significantly shook his head; it was easy to see on this man’s face the signs—­of fast approaching death.

An orderly was at once despatched for a surgeon, Bismarck and I doing what we could meanwhile to alleviate the intense sufferings of the maimed men, bringing them water and administering a little brandy, for the Count still had with him some of the morning’s supply.  When the surgeons came, we transferred the wounded to their care, and making our way to Rezonville, there took the Count’s carriage to rejoin the King’s headquarters, which in the mean time had been moved to Pont-a-Mousson.  Our route led through the village of Gorze, and here we found the streets so obstructed with wagons that I feared it would take us the rest of the day to get through, for the teamsters would not pay the slightest heed to the cries of our postilions.  The Count was equal to the emergency, however, for, taking a pistol from behind his cushion, and bidding me keep my seat, he jumped out and quickly began to clear the street effectively, ordering wagons to the right and left.  Marching in front of the carriage and making way for us till we were well through the blockade, he then resumed his seat, remarking, “This is not a very dignified business for the Chancellor of the German Confederation, but it’s the only way to get through.”