The battalion to which he belongs has made an attack upon Montebello, and is sending its sharpshooters among the cornfields and vineyards.

Some of the regiments invade the rice-fields, climb the walls of the vineyards, and charge the enemy's column-ranks.

The sullen roar of the cannon alternates with the sharp report of guns, and whole showers of grape-shot beat the air with their piercing whistle.

All through the uproar of guns and thunder of the artillery, you can distinguish the guttural hurrahs of the Austrians, and the broken oaths of the French troopers.

The trenches are piled with dead bodies, the trumpets sound the attack, the survivors, obeying an irresistible impulse, spring to the front.