Another soldier, brought into the field-hospital at Druskeniki, had received _twenty-four bullets_ in his legs. He was not aware that many of them had even struck him--an intensely interesting point this, and not wholly unreminiscent of Mr. Winston Churchill’s testimony of his and others’ experience in the great Dervish rush at Omdurman, when they were scarcely conscious of wounds or of tumult. Well, when this Russian soldier recovered consciousness after having one of his feet torn off, he found himself lying in a depression of the ground, with shrapnel and rifle-bullets whistling over him. The undulating ground unquestionably saved him from death, as six bullets passed through his pail and four through his water-bottle! He lay thus for some twenty-four hours before being discovered and carried into safety, having spent this agonising period in praying for a passing projectile to put an end to his sufferings. A visitor to the scene of the desperately sustained struggle for the line of the river San points to the melancholy fact that at one point alone where 200,000 men were locked in a death-grapple for upwards of a week (numbers larger than those engaged either at Gettysburg or Waterloo), the name of the wretched little village would not be known to one in a thousand who looked at the map. Yet the reaper Death found fearful employment during those seven or eight days of pitiless slaughter. “At the summit of and just beyond the crest of the hill is the line where stood the Austrian artillery in their efforts to encounter the hell of heavier fire let loose on them by the Russians. The heaps of brass cartridge-cases show how stubbornly the Austrians contested this ridge. Here and there one sees where a big shell landed true. Splinters and bits of wheels scattered in every direction spell the end of this particular gun-crew. Behind this the Austrians seem to have had a cavalry support of some kind, for in a little hollow just over the ridge we come upon a mass of cavalry accoutrements. The large metal helmets of the Austrian dragoons are scattered everywhere, some of them twisted by bits of shell, others punctured with the single bullet-hole which, coupled with the deep brown stain on the inside, tells what happened to the unfortunate who owned it. We find one on which the name and regiment of the wearer is written, a name no doubt that when published as among the dead will bring misery and suffering to some home in the beautiful valley of the Danube, where even now perhaps the wife or mother anxiously awaits news of this very one who sleeps now in a great trench with hundreds of his fellows.”