A certain amount of tempest is always mingled with a battle. Quid obscurum, quid divinum.
Each historian traces, to some extent, the particular feature which pleases him amid this pellmell. Whatever may be the combinations of the generals, the shock of armed masses has an incalculable ebb.
During the action the plans of the two leaders enter into each other and become mutually thrown out of shape.
Such a point of the field of battle devours more combatants than such another, just as more or less spongy soils soak up more or less quickly the water which is poured on them. It becomes necessary to pour out more soldiers than one would like; a series of expenditures which are the unforeseen.
The line of battle waves and undulates like a thread, the trails of blood gush illogically, the fronts of the armies waver, the regiments form capes and gulfs as they enter and withdraw; all these reefs are continually moving in front of each other.
Where the infantry stood the artillery arrives, the cavalry rushes in where the artillery was, the battalions are like smoke.