CHAPTER XXVI.
SOLFERINO.
One of the most momentous battles in history was in progress, and the battalion in which Manasseh Adorjan still served as a sergeant stood from early morning until afternoon among the reserves, watching the fight.
Leaning on his gun, Manasseh thoughtfully observed the transformation of that earthly paradise into a scene of slaughter.

He thought how, in times of peace, the cry of a single human being in distress would call ready succour and excite the warmest sympathy; but now, when men were dying by thousands, their fellows looked on in the coldest indifference.
He asked himself whether this fearful state of things, this deplorable sacrifice of a country's best and bravest sons, was a necessity, and must still go on for ages to come.

And while he thus communed with himself he, too, held in his hands a weapon calculated to carry not only death to a valiant foe, but also sorrow and anguish to that foeman's wife and mother, and perhaps destitution to his family.
To the north of the fortress of Solferino rose a wooded height, since known to the historians of that battle as Cypress Hill, and distinguished as the point around which the conflict raged most fiercely.

Occupied alternately by each side, the opposing batteries stormed it in succession, and the squadrons, now of one army, now of the other, marched up to assault it.

But though they marched up, Manasseh saw none of them return.