"Yes, yes," said the surgeon kindly; "and now what is the matter with you?"
"Three sabre-cuts on my left arm while I was defending my piece from the Prussians."
The surgeon unwound the bandage, and asked:
"Have you the cross?"
"No, Monsieur the Baron."
"What is your name?"
"Christian Zunnier, secondartillerie-a-cheval."
"Very good!"
He dressed the wounds, and went to the next, saying,
"You will soon be well."
The old artilleryman's heart seemed overflowing with joy; and, as I concluded from his name that he came from Alsace, I spoke to him in our language, at which he was still more rejoiced. He called meJosephel, and said:
"Josephel, be careful how you swallow the medicines they give you, only take what you know. All that does not taste well is good for nothing. If they would give us a bottle ofRikevirevery day, we would soon be well."
When I told him I was afraid of dying of the fever, he laughed long and loud, and said:
"Josephel, you are a fool. Do you think that such tall fellows as you and I were born to die in a hospital? No, no; drive the idea from your head."
But he spoke in vain, for every morning the surgeons, making their rounds, found seven or eight dead. Some died in fevers, some in a deadly chill; so that heat or cold might be the presage of death.
Zunnier said that all this proceeded from the evil drugs which the doctors invented. "Do you see that tall, thin fellow?" he asked. "Well, that man can boast of having killed more men than a field-piece; he is always primed, with his match lighted; and that little brown fellow—I would send him instead of the emperor to the Russians and Prussians; he would kill more of them than acorps d'armée."
He would have made me laugh with his jokes if the litters were not constantly passing.
At the end of three weeks my shoulder had begun to heal, and Zunnier's wounds were also doing well, and they allowed us to walk in the large garden, full of elms, behind the hospital. There were benches under the trees, and we walked the paths like millionaires in our gray great-coats and forage-caps. The increasing heat presaged a fine year, and often, when looking at the beautiful scenery around, I thought of Phalsbourg, and the tears came to my eyes.
"I would like to know what makes you cry so," said Zunnier. "Instead of catching a fever in the hospital, or losing a leg or arm, like hundreds of others, here we are quietly seated in the shade; we are well fed, and can smoke when we have any tobacco; and still you cry. What more do you want, Josephel?"
Then I told him of Catharine; of our walks at Quatre-Vents; of our promises; of all my former life, which then seemed a dream. He listened, smoking his pipe.
"Yes, yes," said he; "all this is very sad. Before the conscription of 1798, I too was going to marry a girl of our village, who was named Margrédel, and whom I loved better than all the world beside. We had promised to marry each other; and all through the campaign of Zurich, I never passed a day without thinking of her. But when I first received a furlough and reached home, what did I hear? Margrédel had been three months married to a shoemaker, named Passauf.
"You may imagine my wrath, Josephel; I could not see clearly; I wanted to demolish everything; and, as they told me that Passauf was at theGrand-Cerfbrewery, thither I started, looking neither to the right nor left. There I saw him drinking with three or four other rogues. As I rushed forward, he cried, 'There comes Christian Zunnier! How goes it, Christian! Margrédel sends you her compliments.' I seized a glass which I hurled at his head, and broke to pieces, saying, 'Give her that for my wedding present, you beggar!' The others, seeing their friend thus maltreated, very naturally fell upon me. I knocked two of three of them over with a jug, jumped on a table, sprang through a window, and beat a retreat."
"It was time," I thought
"But that was not all," he continued, "I had scarcely reached my mother's when the gendarmerie arrived, and they arrested me. They put me on a wagon and conducted me from my brigade to my regiment, which was at Strasbourg. I remained six weeks at Finckmatt, and would probably have received the ball and chain, if we did not have to cross the Rhine to Hohenlinden.
"From that day, Josephel, the thought of marriage never troubled me. Don't talk to me of a soldier who has a wife to think of. Look at our generals who are married, do they fight as they used to?"
I could not answer, for I did not know; but day after day I waited anxiously to hear from home, and my joy can be more easily imagined than described when, one day, a large, square letter was handed me. I recognized Monsieur Goulden's handwriting.
"Well," said Zunnier, laughing, "it is come at last."
I did not answer, but thrust the letter in my pocket, to read it at leisure and alone. I went to the end of the garden and opened it. Two or three apple-blossoms dropped upon the ground, with an order for money, on which Monsieur Goulden had written a few words. But what touched me most was the handwriting of Catharine, which I gazed at without reading a word, while my heart beat as if about to burst through my bosom. At last I grew a little calmer and read:
"My Dear Joseph: I write you to tell you I yet love you alone, and that, day by day, I love you more.
"My greatest grief is to know that you are wounded, in a hospital, and that I cannot take care of you. Since the conscripts departed, we have not had a moment's peace of mind. My mother says I am silly to weep night and day, but she weeps as much as I, and her wrath falls heavily on Pinacle, who scarcely now dares come to the market-place. When we heard the battle had taken place, and that thousands of men had fallen, mother ran every morning to the post-office, while I could not move from the house. At last your letter came, thank heaven! to cheer us. We hope now to see you again, but God's will be done.
"Many people talk of peace, but the emperor so loves war, that I fear it is far off.
"Now, Monsieur Goulden wishes to say a few words to you, so I will close. The weather is beautiful here, and the great apple-tree in the garden is full of flowers; I have plucked a few, which I send in this letter. God bless you, Joseph, and farewell!"
As I finished reading this, Zunnier arrived, and in my joy, I said:
"Sit down, Zunnier, and I will read you my sweetheart's letter. You will see whether she is a Margrédel."
"Let me light my pipe first," he answered; and having done so, he added: "Go on, Josephel, but I warn you that I am an old bird, and do not believe all I hear; women are more cunning than we."
Notwithstanding this bit of philosophy, I read Catharine's letter slowly to him. When I had ended, he took it, and for a long time gazed at it dreamily, and then handed it back, saying:
"There! Josephel. She is a good girl, and a sensible one, and will never marry any one but you."
"Do you really think so?"
"Yes; you may rely upon her; she will never marry a Passauf. I would rather distrust the emperor than such a girl."
I could have embraced Zunnier for these words; but I said:
"I have received a bill for one hundred francs. Now for some white wine of Alsace. Let us try to get out."
"That is well thought of," said he, twisting his mustache and putting his pipe in his pocket. "I do not like to mope in a garden when there are taverns outside. We must get permission."
We arose joyfully and went to the hospital, when the letter-carrier, coming out, stopped Zunnier, saying:
"Are you Christian Zunnier, of the secondartillerie-à-cheval?"
"I have that honor, monsieur the carrier."
"Well, here is something for you," said the other, handing him a little package and a large letter.
Zunnier was stupified, never having received anything from home or from anywhere else. He opened the packet—a box appeared—then the box—and saw the cross of honor. He became pale; his eyes filled with tears, he staggered against a balustrade, and then shouted "Vive l'Empereur!" in such tones that the three halls rang and rang again.
The carrier looked on smiling.
"You are satisfied," said he.
"Satisfied! I need but one thing more."
"And what is that?"
"Permission to go to the city."
"You must ask Monsieur Tardieu, the surgeon in chief."
He went away laughing, while we ascended arm-in-arm, to ask permission of the surgeon-major, an old man, who had heard the "Vive l'Empereur!" and demanded gravely:
"What is the matter?"
Zunnier showed his cross and replied:
"Pardon, major; but I am more than usually merry." "I can easily believe you," said Monsieur Tardieu; "you want a pass to the city?"
"If you will be so good; for myself and my comrade, Joseph Bertha."
The surgeon had examined my wound the day before. He took out his portfolio and gave us passes. We sallied forth as proud as kings—Zunnier of his cross, I, of my letter.
I walked dreamily through the streets, led by Zunnier, who recognized every corner, and kept repeating:
"There—there is the church of Saint Nicholas; that large building is the university; that on yonder is theHôtel de Ville."
He seemed to remember every stone, having been there in 1807, before the battle of Friedland, and continued:
"We are the same here as if we were in Metz, or Strasbourg, or any other city in France. The people wish us well. After the campaign of 1806, they used to do all they could for us. The citizens would take three or four of us at a time to dinner with them. They even gave us balls, and called us the heroes of Jena. Let us go in somewhere and see how they will treat us. We named their elector King of Saxony, and gave him a good slice of Poland."
Suddenly he stopped before a little, low door, and cried:
"Hold! Here is the Golden Sheep Brewery. The front is on the other street, but we can enter here. Come!"
I followed him into a narrow, winding passage, which led to an old court, surrounded by rubble walls. To the right was the brewery, and in a corner a great wheel, turned by an enormous dog, which pumped the beer to every story of the house.
The clinking of glasses was heard coming from a room which opened on the Rue de Tilly. The sweet smell of the new March beer filled the air, and Zunnier, with a look of satisfaction, cried:
"Yes, here I came six years ago with Ferré and Rousillon. Poor Rousillon! he left his bones at Smolensk; and Ferré must now be at home in his village, for he lost a leg at Wagram."
At the same time he pushed open the door, and we entered a lofty hall, full of smoke. I saw, through the thick, gray atmosphere, a long row of tables, surrounded by men drinking—the greater number in short coats and little caps, the remainder in the Saxon uniform. They were mostly students, and the oldest of them—a tall, withered-looking man, with a red nose and long flaxen beard, stained with beer—was standing upon a table, reading the gazette aloud. He held the paper in one hand, and in the other a long porcelain pipe. His comrades, with their long, light hair falling upon their shoulders, were listening with the deepest interest; and as we entered, they shouted "Vaterland! Vaterland!"
They touched glasses with the Saxon soldiers, while the tall student bent over to take up his glass, and the round, fat brewer cried:
"Gesundheit! Gesundheit!"
Scarcely had we made half a dozen steps toward them, when they became silent.
"Come, come, comrades!" cried Zunnier, "don't disturb yourselves. Go on reading. We do not object to hear the news."
But they did not seem inclined to profit by our invitation, and the reader descended from the table, folding up his paper, which he put in his pocket.
"It is finished," said he, "it is finished."
"Yes; it is finished," repeated the others, looking at each other with a peculiar expression.
Two or three of the soldiers rose and left the room, and the fat landlord said:
"You do not perhaps know that the large hall is on the Rue de Tilly?"
"Yes; we know it very well," replied Zunnier; "but I like this little hall better. Here I used to come, long ago, with two old comrades, to empty a few glasses in honor of Jena and Auerstaedt. I know this room of old."
"Ah! as you please, as you please," returned the landlord. "Do you wish some March beer?"
"Yes; two glasses and the gazette."
"Very good."
The glasses were handed us, and Zunnier, who observed nothing, tried to open a conversation with the students; but they excused themselves, and, one after another, went out. I saw that they hated us, but dared not show it.
The gazette spoke of an armistice, after two new victories at Bautzen and Wurtschen. This armistice commenced on the sixth of June, and a conference was then being held at Prague, in Bohemia, to arrange on terms of peace. All this naturally gave me pleasure. I thought of again seeing home. But Zunnier, with his habit of thinking aloud, filled the hall with his reflections, and interrupted me at every line.
"An armistice!" he cried. "Do we want an armistice, after having beaten those Prussians and Russians three times? We should annihilate them! Would they give us an armistice if they had beaten us? There, Joseph, you see the emperor's character—he is too good. It is his only fault. He did the same thing after Austerlitz, and we had to begin over again. I tell you, he is too good and if he were not so, we should have been masters of Europe."
As he spoke, he looked around as if seeking assent; but the students scowled, and no one replied.
At last Zunnier rose.
"Come, Joseph," said he; "I know nothing of politics, but I insist that we should give no armistice to those beggars. When they are down, we should keep them there."
After we had paid our reckoning, and were once more in the street, he continued:
"I do not know what was the matter with those people to-day. We must have disturbed them in something."
"It is very possible," I replied. "They certainly did not seem like the good-natured folks you were speaking of."
"No," said he. "The students, long ago, used to pass their time drinking with us. We sangFanfan la Tulipeand 'King Dagobert' together, which are not political songs, you know. But these fellows are good for nothing."
I knew, afterward, that those students were members of theTugend-Bund. No wonder they hated Frenchmen!
On returning to the hospital, we learned that we were to go, that same evening, to the barracks ofRosenthal—a sort of depot for wounded, near Lutzen, where the roll was called morning and evening, but where, at all other times, we were at liberty to do as we pleased. We often strolled through the town; but the citizens now slammed their doors in our faces, and the tavern-keepers not only refused to give us credit, but attempted to charge double and triple for what we got. But my comrade could not be cheated. He knew the price of everything as well as any Saxon among them. Often we stood on the bridge and gazed at the thousand branches of the Pleisse and the Elster, glowing red in the light of the setting sun, little thinking that we should one day cross those rivers after losing the bloodiest of battles, and that whole regiments would be submerged in the glittering waters beneath us.
But the ill-feeling of the people toward us was shown in a thousand forms. The day after the conclusion of the armistice, we went together to bathe in the Elster, and Zunnier, seeing a peasant approaching, cried:
"Holloa! comrade! Is there any danger here?"
"No. Go in boldly," replied the man.
Zunnier, mistrusting nothing, walked fifteen or eighteen feet out. He was a good swimmer, but his left arm was yet weak, and the strength of the current carried him away so quickly that he could not even catch the branches of the willows which hung over him; and were it not that he was carried to a ford, where he gained a footing, he would have been swept between two muddy islands, and certainly lost.
The peasant stood to see the effect of his advice. I rushed at him, but he laughed, and ran, quicker than I could follow him, to the city. Zunnier was wild with wrath, and wished to pursue him to Counewitz; but how could we find him among four or five hundred houses?
Returning to Leipsic, we saw joy painted on the countenances of the inhabitants. It did not display itself openly; but the citizens, meeting, would shake hands with an air of huge satisfaction, and the general rejoicing glistened even in the eyes of servants and the poorest workmen.
Zunnier said: "These Germans seem to be merry about something. They do not always look so good-natured."
"Yes," I replied; "their good humor comes from the fine weather and good harvest."
But when we reached the barracks, we found some of our officers at the gate, talking eagerly together, and then we learned the cause of so much joy. The conference at Prague was broken off, and Austria, too, was about to declare war against us, which gave us two hundred thousand more men to take care of.
The day after, twelve hundred wounded were ordered to rejoin their corps. Zunnier was of the number—I accompanied him to the gates. My arm was yet too weak for duty. My existence was them sad enough, for I formed no more close friendships, and when, on the first of October, the old surgeon, Tardieu, gave me my orders to march, telling me I was fully recovered, I felt almost relived.
It was about five o'clock in the evening, and we were approaching the village of Risa, when we descried an old mill, with its wooden bridge, over which a bridle-path ran. We struck off from the road and took this path, to make a short cut to the village, when we heard cries and shrieks for help, and, at the same moment, two women, one old, and the other somewhat younger, ran across a garden, dragging two children with them. They were trying to gain a little wood which bordered the road, and, at the same moment, we saw several of our soldiers come out of the mill with sacks, while others came up from a cellar with little casks, which they hastened to place on a cart standing near; still others were driving cows and horses from a stable, while an old man stood at the door, with uplifted hands, as if imprecating Heaven's malison upon them.
"There," cried the quartermaster, who commanded our party, an old soldier named Poitevin, "there are fellows pillaging. We are not far from the army."
"But that is horrible!" I cried. "They are robbers."
"Yes," returned the quartermaster coolly; "it is contrary to discipline, and if the emperor knew of it, they would be shot like dogs."
We crossed the little bridge, and found the thieves crowded around a cask which they had pierced, passing around the cup. This sight roused the quartermaster's indignation, and he cried:
"On what authority do you commit this pillage?"
Several turned their heads, but seeing that we were but three, for the rest of our party had gone on, one of them replied:
"Ha! what do you want, old joker? A little of the spoil, I suppose. But you need not curl up your mustaches on that account. Here, drink a drop."
The speaker held out the cup, and the quartermaster took it and drank, looking at me as he did so.
"Well, young man," said he., "will you have some, too? It is famous wine, this."
"No, I thank you," I replied.
Several of the pillaging party now cried:
"Hurry, there it is time to get back to camp."
"No, no," replied others; "there is more to be had here."
"Comrades," said the quartermaster, in a tone of gentle reproof and warning, "you know, comrades, you must go gently about it."
"Yes, yes, old fellow," replied a drum-major, with half-closed eyes, and a mocking smile; "do not be alarmed; we will pluck the chicken according to rule. We will take care; we will take care."
The quartermaster said no more, but seemed ashamed on my account. He remained in a meditative mood for some time after we started to overtake our companions, and, at length, said deprecatingly:
"What would you have, young man? War is war. One cannot see himself starving, with food at hand."
He was afraid I would report him; he would have remained with the pillagers but for the fear of being captured. I replied, to relieve his mind:
"Those are probably good fellows, but the sight of a cup of wine makes them forget everything."
At length, about ten o'clock, we saw the bivouac fires, on a gloomy hill-side. Further on, in the plain, a great number of other fires were burning. The night was clear, and as we approached the bivouac, the sentry challenged:
"Who goes there?"
"France!" replied the quartermaster.
My heart beat, as I thought that, in a few moments, I should again meet my old comrades, if they were yet in the world.
Two men of the guard came forward to reconnoitre us. The commandant of the post, a gray-hairedsous-lieutenant, his arm in a sling under his cloak, asked us whence we came, whither we were going, and whether we had met any parties of Cossacks on our route. The quartermaster answered. The lieutenant informed us that Sonham's division had that morning left them, and ordered us to follow him, that he might examine our marching-papers, which we did in silence, passing among the bivouac fires, around which men, covered with dried mud, were sleeping, in groups of twenty. Not one moved.
We arrived at the officers' quarters. It was an old brick-kiln, with an immense roof, resting on posts driven into the ground. A large fire was burning in it, and the air was agreeably warm. Around it soldiers were sleeping, with happy faces, and near the posts stacks of arms shone in the light of the flames. One bronzed old veteran watched alone, seated on the ground, and mending a shoe with a needle and thread.
The officer handed me back my paper first, saying:
"You will rejoin your battalion tomorrow, two leagues hence, near Torgau."
Then the old soldier, looking at me, placed his hand upon the ground, to show that there was room beside him, and I seated myself. I opened my knapsack, and put on new stockings and shoes which I had brought from Leipsic, after which I felt much better.
The old man asked:
"You are rejoining your corps?"
"Yes; the sixth at Torgau."
"And you came from—"
"The hospital at Leipsic."
"That is easily seen," said he; "you are fat as a beadle. They fed you on chickens down there, while we were eating cow-beef."
I looked around at my sleeping neighbors. He was right; the poor conscripts were mere skin and bone. They were bronzed as veterans, and scarcely seemed able to stand.
The old man, in a moment, continued his train of questions:
"You were wounded?"
"Yes; at Lutzen."
"Four months in the hospital!" said he whistling; "what luck! I have just returned from Spain, flattering myself that I was going to meet theKaiserliksof 1807 once more—sheep, regular sheep—but they have become worse than guerrillas. Things are spoiling."
He said the most of this to himself, without according me much of his attention, all the while sewing his shoe, which from time to time he tried on, to be sure that the sewn part would not hurt his foot. At last he put the thread in his knapsack and the shoe upon his foot, and stretched himself upon a truss of straw.
I was too fatigued to sleep at once, and for an hour lay awake.
In the morning I set out again with the quartermaster Poitevin, and three other soldiers of Sonham's division. Our route lay along the bank of the Elbe; the weather was wet and the wind swept fiercely over the river, throwing the spray far on the land.
We hastened on for an hour, when suddenly the quartermaster cried:
"Attention!"
He had halted suddenly, and stood listening. We could hear nothing but the sighing of the wind through the trees, and the splash of the waves; but his ear was finer than ours.
"They are skirmishing yonder," said he, pointing to a wood on our right. "The enemy may be toward us, and the best thing we can do is to enter the wood and pursue our route cautiously. We can see at the other end of it what is going on; and if the Prussians or Russians are there, we can beat a retreat without their perceiving us."
We all thought the quartermaster was right; and, in my heart, I admired the shrewdness of the old drunkard, for such he was. We kept on toward the wood, Poitevin leading, and the others following, with our pieces cocked. We marched slowly, stopping every hundred paces to listen. The shots grew nearer; they were fired at intervals, and the quartermaster said:
"They are sharp-shooters reconnoitering a body of cavalry, for the firing is all on one side."
It was true. In a few moments we perceived, through the trees, a battalion of French infantry, about to make their soup, and in the distance, on the plain beyond, platoons of Cossacks defiling from one village to another. A few skirmishers along the edge of the wood were firing on them, but they were almost beyond musket-range.
"There are your people, young man," said Poitevin. "You are at home."
He had good eyes to read the number of a regiment at such a distance. I could only see ragged soldiers with their cheeks and famine-glistening eyes. Their great-coats were twice too large for them, and fell in folds along their bodies like cloaks. I say nothing of the mud; it was everywhere. No wonder the Germans were gleeful, even after our victories.
We went toward a couple of little tents, before which three or four horses were nibbling the scanty grass. I saw Colonel Lorain, who now commanded the third battalion—a tall, thin man, with brown mustaches and a fierce air. He looked at me frowningly, and when I showed my papers, only said:
"Go and rejoin your company."
I started off, thinking that I would recognize some of the Fourth; but, since Lutzen, companies had been so mingled with companies, regiments with regiments, and divisions with divisions, that, on arriving at the camp of the grenadiers, I knew no one. The men seeing me approach, looked distrustfully at me, as if to say:
"Doeshewant some of our beef? Let us see what he brings to the pot!"
I was almost ashamed to ask for my company, when a bony veteran, with a nose long and pointed like an eagle's beak, and a worn-out coat hanging from his shoulders, lifting his head, and gazing at me, said quietly:
"Hold! It is Joseph. I thought he was buried four months ago."
Then I recognized my poor Zébédé. My appearance seemed to affect him, for, without rising, he squeezed my hand, crying: "Klipfel! here is Joseph!" Another soldier, seated near a pot, turned his head, saying:
"It is you, Joseph, is it? Then you were not killed."
This was all my welcome. Misery had made them so selfish that they thought only of themselves. But Zébédé was always good-hearted; he made me sit near him, throwing a glance at the others that commanded respect, and offered me his spoon, which he had fastened to the button-hole of his coat. I thanked him, and produced from my knapsack a dozen sausages, a good loaf of bread, and a flask ofeau-de-vie, which I had the foresight to purchase at Risa. I handed a couple of the sausages to Zébédé, who took them with tears in his eyes. I was also going to offer some to the others; but he put his hand on my arm, saying:
"What is good to eat is good to keep."
We retired from the circle and ate, drinking at the same time; the rest of the soldiers said nothing, but looked wistfully at us. Klipfel, smelling the sausages, turned and said:
"Hollo! Joseph! Come and eat with us. Comrades are always comrades, you know."
"That is all very well," said Zébédé; "but I find meat and drink the best comrades."
He shut up my knapsack himself, saying:
"Keep that, Joseph. I have not been so well regaled for more than a month. You shall not lose it."
A half-hour after, the recall was beaten; the skirmishers came in, and Sergeant Pinto, who was among the number, recognized me, and said:
"Well; so you have escaped! But you came back in an evil moment! Things go wrong—wrong!"
The colonel and commandants mounted, and we began moving. The Cossacks withdrew. We marched with arms at will; Zébédé was at my side and related all that passed since Lutzen; the great victories of Bautzen and Wurtzen; the forced marches to overtake the retreating enemy; the march on Berlin; then the armistice, the arrival of the veterans of Spain—men accustomed to pillaging and living on the peasantry.
Unfortunately, at the close of the armistice, all were against us. The country people looked on us with horror; they cut the bridges down, and kept the Russians and Prussians informed of all our movements. It rained almost constantly, and the day of the battle of Dresden, it fell so heavily that the emperor's hat hung down upon his shoulders. But when victorious, we only laughed at these things. Zébédé told me all this in detail; how after the victory at Dresden, General Vandamme, who was to cut off the retreat of the Austrians, had penetrated to Kulm in his ardor; and how those whom we had beaten the day before fell upon him on all sides, front, flank, and rear, and captured him and several other generals, utterly destroying hiscorps d'armée. Two days before, owing to a false movement of Marshal Macdonald, the enemy had surprised our division, and the fifth, sixth, and eleventh corps on the heights of Luwenberg, and in theméléeZébédé received two blows from the butt of a grenadier's musket, and was thrown into the river Katzbach. Luckily he seized the over-hanging branch of a tree, and managed to regain the bank. He told me how all that night, despite the blood that flowed from his nose and ears, he had marched to the village of Goldberg, almost dead with hunger, fatigue, and his wounds, and how a joiner had taken pity upon him and given him bread, onions, and water. He told me how, on the day following, they had marched across the fields, each one taking his own course, without orders, because the marshals, generals, and all mounted officers had fled as far as possible, in the fear of being captured. He assured me that fifty hussars could have captured them, one after another; but that by good fortune, Blücher could not cross the river, so that they finally rallied at Wolda, and further on at Buntzlau their officers met them, surprised at yet having troops to lead. He told me how Marshal Oudinot and Marshal Ney had been beaten; the first at Gross-Beeren, and the other at Dennewitz.
We were between three armies, who were uniting to crush us; that of the north, commanded by Bernadotte; that of Silesia, commanded by Blücher; and the army of Bohemia, commanded by Schwartzenberg. We marched in turn against each of them; they feared the emperor and retreated before us; but we could not be at once in Silesia and Bohemia, so march followed march, and countermarch, countermarch. All the men asked was to fight; they wanted their misery to end. A sort of guerrilla, named Thielmann, raised the peasantry against us, and the Bavarians and Wurtemburgers declared against us. We had all Europe on our hands.
On the fourteenth of October, our battalion was detached to reconnoitre the village of Aken. The enemy were in force there and received us with a scattering artillery fire, and we remained all night without being able to light a fire, on account of the pouring rain. The next day we set out to rejoin our division by forced marches. Every one said, I know not why:
"The battle is approaching! the fight is coming on!"
Sergeant Pinto declared that he felt the emperor in the air. I felt nothing, but I knew that we were marching on Leipsic. The night following, the weather cleared up a little, millions of stars shone out, and we still kept on. The next day, about ten o'clock, near a little village whose name I cannot recollect, we were ordered to halt, and then we heard a trembling in the air. The colonel and Sergeant Pinto said:
"The battle has begun!" and at the same moment, the colonel, waving his sword, cried:
"Forward!"
We started at a run, and half an hour after saw, at a few thousand paces ahead, a long column, in which followed artillery, cavalry, and infantry, one upon the other; behind us, on the road to Duben, we saw another, all pushing forward at their utmost speed. Regiments were even hastening across the fields.
At the end of the road we could see the two spires of the churches of Saint Nicholas and Saint Thomas in Leipsic, rising amidst great clouds of smoke through which broad flashes were darting. The noise increased; we were yet more than a league from the city, but were forced to almost shout to hear each other, and men gazed around, pale as death, seeming by their looks to say:
"This is indeed a battle!"
Sergeant Pinto cried that it was worse than Eylau. He laughed no more, nor did Zébédé; but on, on we rushed, officers incessantly urging us forward. We seemed to grow delirious; the love of country was indeed striving within us, but still greater was the furious eagerness for the fight.
At eleven o'clock, we descried the battle-field, about a league in front of Leipsic. We saw the steeples and roofs of the city crowded with people, and the old ramparts on which I had walked so often, thinking of Catharine. Opposite us, twelve or fifteen hundred yards distant, two regiments of red lancers were drawn up, and a little to the left, two or three regiments ofchasseurs-à-cheval, and between them filed the long column from Duben. Further on, along a slope, were the divisions Ricard, Dombrowski, Sonham, and several others, with their rear to the city; and far behind, on a hill, around one of those old farm-houses with flat roofs and immense outlying sheds, so often seen in that country, glittered the brilliant uniforms of the staff.
It was the army of reserve, commanded by Ney. His left wing communicated with Marmont, who was posted on the road to Halle, and his right with the grand army, commanded by the emperor in person. In this manner our troops formed an immense circle around Leipsic; and the enemy, arriving from all points, sought to join their divisions so as to form a yet larger circle around us, and to inclose us in Leipsic as in a trap.
While we waited thus, three fearful battles were going on at once; one against the Austrians and Russians at Wachau; another against the Prussians at Mockern on the road to Halle; and the third on the road to Lutzen, to defend the bridge of Lindenau, attacked by General Giulay.
The battalion was commencing to descend the hill, opposite Leipsic, when we saw a staff-officer crossing the plain beneath, and coming at full gallop toward us. In two minutes he was with us; Colonel Lorain had spurred forward to meet him; they exchanged a few words, and the officer returned. Hundreds of others were rushing over the plain in the same manner, bearing orders.
"Head of column to the right!" shouted the colonel.
We took the direction of a wood, which skirts the Duben road some half a league. Once at its borders, we were ordered to re-prime our guns, and the battalion was deployed through the wood as skirmishers. We advanced, twenty-five paces apart, and each of us kept his eyes well opened, as may be imagined. Every minute Sergeant Pinto would cry out:
"Get under cover!"
But he did not need to warn us; each one hastened to take his post behind a stout tree, to reconnoitre well before proceeding to another. We kept on in this manner some ten minutes, and, as we saw nothing, began to grow confident, when suddenly, one, two, three shots rang out. Then they came from all sides, and rattled from end to end of our line. At the same instant I saw my comrade on the left fall, trying, as he sank to the earth, to support himself by the trunk of the tree behind which he was standing. This roused me. I looked to the right and saw, fifty or sixty paces off, an old Prussian soldier, with his long red mustaches covering the lock of his piece; he was aiming deliberately at me. I fell at once to the ground, and at the same moment heard the report. It was a close escape, for the comb, brush, and handkerchief in my shako were broken and torn by the bullet. A cold shiver ran through me.
"Well done! a miss is as good as a mile!" cried the old sergeant, starting forward at a run, and I, who had no wish to remain longer in such a place, followed with right good-will.
Lieutenant Bretonville, waving his sabre, cried, "Forward!" while, to the right, the firing still continued. We soon arrived at a clearing, where lay five or six trunks of felled trees, but not one standing, that might serve us for a cover. Nevertheless, five or six of our men advanced boldly, when the sergeant called out:
"Halt! The Prussians are in ambush around. Look sharp!"
Scarcely had he spoken, when a dozen bullets whistled through the branches, and, at the same time, a number of Prussians rose, and plunged deeper into the forest opposite.
"There they go! Forward!" cried Pinto.
But the bullet in my shako had rendered me cautious; it seemed as if I could almost see through the trees, and, as the sergeant started forth into the clearing, I held his arm, pointing out to him the muzzle of a musket peeping out from a bush, not a hundred paces before us. The others, clustering around, saw it too, and Pinto whispered,
"Stay, Bertha; remain here, and do not lose sight of him, while we turn the position."
They set off to the right and left, and I, behind my tree, my piece at my shoulder, waited like a hunter for his game. At the end of two or three minutes, the Prussian, hearing nothing, rose slowly. He was quite a boy, with little blonde mustaches, and a tall, slight, but well-knit figure. I could have killed him as he stood, but the thought of thus slaying a defenceless man froze my blood. Suddenly he saw me, and bounded aside. Then I fired, and breathed more freely as I saw him running, like a stag, toward the wood.
At the same moment, five or six reports rang out to the right and left; the sergeant, Zébédé, Klipfel, and the rest appeared, and a hundred paces further on, we found the young Prussian upon the ground, blood gushing from his mouth. He gazed at us with a scared expression, raising his arms, as if to parry bayonet-thrusts, but the sergeant called gleefully to him:
"Fear nothing! Your account is settled."
No one offered to injure him further but Klipfel took a beautiful pipe, which was hanging out of his pocket, saying:
"For a long time I have wanted a pipe, and here is a fine one."
"Fusilier Klipfel!" cried Pinto indignantly, "will you be good enough to put back that pipe? Leave it to the Cossacks to rob the wounded! A French soldier knows only honor!"
Klipfel threw down the pipe, and we departed, not one caring to look back at the wounded Prussian. We arrived at the edge of the forest, outside which, among tufted bushes, the Prussians we pursued had taken refuge. We saw them rise to fire upon us, but they immediately lay down again. We might have remained there tranquilly, since we had orders to occupy the wood, and the shots of the Prussians could not hurt us, protected as we were by the trees. On the other side of the slope we heard a terrific battle going on; the thunder of cannon was increasing, it filled the air with one continuous roar. But our officers held a council, and decided that the bushes were part of the forest, and that the Prussians must be driven from them. This determination cost many a life.
We received orders, then, to drive in the enemy's tirailleurs, and as they fired as we came on, we started at a run, so as to be upon them before they could reload. Our officers ran, also, full of ardor. We thought the bushes ended at the top of the hill, and that then we could sweep off the Prussians by dozens. But scarcely had we arrived, out of breath, upon the ridge, when old Pinto cried:
"Hussars!"
I looked up, and saw theColbacksrushing down upon us like a tempest. Scarcely had I seen them, when I began to spring down the hill, going, I verily believe, in spite of weariness and my knapsack, fifteen feet at a bound. I saw before me, Pinto, Zébédé, and the others, making their best speed. Behind, on came the hussars, their officers shouting orders in German, their scabbards clanking and horses neighing. The earth shook beneath them.
I took the shortest road to the wood, and had almost reached it, when I came upon one of the trenches where the peasants were in the habit of digging clay for their houses. It was more than twenty feet wide, and forty or fifty long, and the rain had made the sides very slippery; but as I heard the very breathing of the horses behind me, without thinking of aught else, I sprang forward, and fell upon my face; another fusilier of my company was already there. We arose as soon as we could, and at the same instant two hussars glided down the slippery side of the trench. The first, cursing like a fiend, aimed a sabre-stroke at my poor comrade's head, but as he rose in his stirrups to give force to the blow, I buried my bayonet in his side, while the other brought down his blade upon my shoulder with such force, that, were it not for my epaulette, I believe that I had been well-nigh cloven in two. Then he lunged, but as his point touched my breast, a bullet from above crashed through his skull. I looked around, and saw one of our men, up to his knees in the clay. He had heard the oaths of the hussars and the neighing of the horses, and had come to the edge of the trench to see what was going on.
"Well, comrade," said he, laughing, "it was about time."