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who should be earliest up and exchange first shot with the enemy. Some dashed forward over the open field in front; others skulked along by dykes and ditches; some, again, dodged here and there, as cover offered its shelter: but about a dozen, of whom I was one, kept the track of a little cart-road, which, half-concealed by high banks and furze, ran in a zig-zag line towards the village. I was always smart of foot; and now, having newly joined the “voltigeurs,” was naturally eager to show myself not unworthy of my new associates. I went on at iny best pace; and being lightly equipped—neither musket nor ballcartridge to carry–I soon outstripped them all; and, after about twenty minutes' brisk running, saw in front of me a long, low farm-house, the walls all pierced for musketry, and two '' eight-pounders in battery at the gate. I looked back for my companions, but they were not up—not a man of them to be seen. “No matter, thought I, ‘they'll be here soon; meanwhile I'll make for that little copse of brush-wood;" for a small clump of low furze and broom was standing at a little distance in front of the farm. All this time, I ought to say, not a man of the enemy was to be seen, although I, from where I stood, could see the crenelated walls, and the guns, as they were pointed—at a distance all would seem like an ordinary peasant house. “As I crossed the open space to gain the copse, piff! came a bullet, whizzing past me; and just as I reached the cover, piff! came another. I ducked my head and made for the thicket; but just as I did so, my foot caught in a branch. I stumbled and pitched forward; and trying to save myself, I grasped a bow above me. It smashed suddenly, and down I went. Ay! down sure enough--for Iwentright through the furze, and into a well– one of those old, walled wells, they have in these countries, with a huge bucket that fills up the whole space, and is worked by a chain. Luckily the bucket was £ up near the top, and caught me, or I should have gone where there would have been no more heard of Pièrre Canot; as it was, I was sorely bruised by the fall, and did"nt recover myself for full ten minutes after. Then I discovered that I was sitting in a large wooden

trough, hooped with iron, and supported by two heavy chains that passed over a windlass, about ten feet above my head. “I was safe enough for the matter of that; at least none were likely to discover me, as I could easily see by the rust of the chain and the grass-grown edges, that the well had been long disused. Now the position was far from being pleasant. There stood the farmhouse, full of soldiers, the muskets ranging over every approach to where I lay. Of my comrades, there was nothing to be seen, they had either missed the way or retreated; and so time crept on, and I pondered on what might be going forward elsewhere, and whether it would ever be my own fortune to see my comrades again. “It might be an hour—it seemed three or four to me—after this, as I looked over the plain, I saw the caps of our infantry just issuing over the brushwood, and a glancing lustre of their bayonets, as the sun tipped them. They were advancing, but as it seemed, slowly—halting at times, and then moving forward again—just like a force waiting for others to come up. At last they debouched into the plain; but, to my surprise, they wheeled about to the right, leaving the farm-house on their flank, as if to march beyond it. This was to lose their way totally; nothing would be easier than to carry the position of the farm, for the Germans were evidently few, had no videttes, and thought themselves in perfect security. I crept out from m ambush, and holding my cap on a stic tried to attract notice from our fellows, but none saw me. I ventured at last to shout aloud, but with no better success; so that, driven to the end of my resources, I set to and beat a “roulade on the drum, thundering away with all my might, and not caring what might come of it—for I was half mad with vexation as well as despair. They heard me now; I saw a staff officer gallop up to the head of the leading division and halt them; a volley came peppering from behind me, but without doing me any injury, for I was safe once more in my bucket. Then came another pause, and again I repeated my manoeuvre, and to my delight perceived that our fellows were advancing at quick march. I beat harder, and the drums of the grenadiers answered me. All right now, thought I, as springing forward, I called out— ‘This way, boys, the wall of the orchard has scarcely a man to defend it;" and I rattled out the ‘pas-de-charge,' with all my force. One crashing fire of guns and small arms answered me from the farm-house; and then away went the Germans as hard as they could l—such running never was seen: One of the guns they carried off with them, the tackle of the other broke, and the drivers, jumping off their saddles, took to their legs at once. Our lads were over the walls, through the windows, between the stockades, everywhere in fact, in a minute, and once inside, they carried all before them. The village was taken at the point of the bayonet, and in less than an hour the whole force of the brigade was advancing in full march on the enemy's flank. There was little resistance made after that, and Kaunitz only saved his artillery by leaving his rere guard to be cut to pieces.” The cannonier nodded, as if in full assent, and Pièrre looked around him with the air of a man who has vindicated his claim to greatness. “Of course,” said he, “the despatch said little about Pièrre Canot, but a great deal about Moreau, and Kleber, and the rest of them.” While some were well satisfied that Pièrre had well-established his merits, as the conqueror of “Grandrengs,” others quizzed him about the heroism of lying hid in a well, and owing all his glory to a skin of parchment. “An' thou went with the army of Italy, Pièrre,” said the hussar, “thou'd have seen men march boldly to victory, and not skulk under ground like a mole.” “I am tired of your song about this army of Italy,” broke in the cannonier; “we who have served in La Vendee and the North know what fighting means, as well, mayhap, as men whose boldest feats are scaling rocks and clambering up precipices. Your Bonaparte is more like one of these Guerilla chiefs they have in the “Basque,' than the general of a French army.” “The man who insults the army of Italy, or its chief, insults me !” said the corporal, springing up, and casting a sort of haughty defiance around him. “And then?”—asked the other. “And then—if he be a French soldier, he knows what should follow.”

“Parblem!" said the cannonier, coolly, “there would be little glory in cutting you down, and even less in being wounded by you; but if you will have it so, it's not an old soldier of the artillery will baulk your humour.” As he spoke, he slowly arose from the ground, and tightening his waist-belt, seemed prepared to follow the other. The rest sprung to their feet at the same time, but not, as I anticipated, to offer a friendly mediation between the angry parties, but in full approval of their readiness to decide by the sword a matter too trivial to be called a quarrel. In the midst of the whispering conferences as to place and weapons—for the short, straight sword of the artillery was very unlike the curved sabre of the hussar—the quick tramp of horses was heard, and suddenly the head of a squadron was seen, as, with glancing helmets and glittering equipments, they turned off the high-road and entered the wood. “Here they come!—here come the troops!” was now heard on every side; and all question of the duel was forgotten in the greater interest inspired by the arrival of the others. The sight was strikingly picturesque; for, as they rode up, the order to dismount was given, and in an instant the whole squadron was at work picqueting and unsaddling their horses; forage was shaken out before the weary and hungry beasts; kits were unpacked, cooking utensils produced, and every one busy in preparing for the bivouac. An infantry column followed close upon the others, which was again succeeded by two batteries of field-artillery, and some squadrons of heavy dragoons; and now the whole wood, far and near, was crammed with soldiers, wagons, caissons, and camp equipage. To me the interest of the scene was neverending – life, bustle, and gaiety on every side. The reckless pleasantry of the camp, too, seemed elevated by the warlike accompaniments of the picture — the caparisoned horses – the brass guns blackened on many a battle. field—the weather-seamed faces of the hardy soldiers themselves—all conspiring to excite a high enthusiasm for the career. Most of the equipments were new and strange to my eyes. I had never before seen the grenadiers of the Republican Guard, with their enormous

shakos, and their long-flapped vests, descending to the middle of the thigh; neither had I seen the “Hussars de la mort,” in their richly-braided uniform of black, and their long hair curled in ringlets at either side of the face. The cuirassiers, too, with their low cocked hats, and straight black feathers, as well as the “Portes Drapeaux,” whose brilliant uniforms, all slashed with gold, seemed scarcely in keeping with yellow-topped boots: all were now seen by me for the first time. But of all the figures, which amused me most by its singularity, was that of a woman, who, in a short frock-coat and a low-crowned hat, carried a little barrel at her side, and led an ass loaded with two similar, but rather larger casks. Her air and gait were perfectly soldier-like; and as she passed the different ts and sentries, she saluted them in true military fashion. I was not long to remain in ignorance of her vocation nor her name; for scarcely did she pass a group without stopping to dispense a wonderful cordial that she carried; and then I heard the familiar title of “La Mére Madou,” uttered in every form of panegyric. She was a short, stoutly-built figure, somewhat past the middle of life, but without any impairment of activity in her movements. A pleasing countenance, with good teeth and black eyes, a merry voice, and a ready tongue, were qualities more than sufficient to make her a favourite with the soldiers, whom I found she had followed to more than one battle field. “Peste!” cried an old grenadier, as he spat out the liquor on the ground. “This is one of those sweet things they make in Holland; it smacks of treacle and bad lemons." “Ah, Grognard!" said she, laughing, “thou art more used to corn-brandy, with a clove of garlic in't, than to good curaçoa." “What, curaçoa ! Mére Madou, hast got curoçoa there?" cried a greywhiskered captain, as he turned on his saddle at the word. “Yes, Mon. Capitaine, and such as no bourgomaster ever drank better;" and she filled out a little glass, and presented it gracefully to him. “Encore, ma bonne Mēre,” said he, as he wiped his thick moustache; “that liquor is another reason for extending the blessings of liberty to the brave Dutch.”

“Didn't I tell you so?” said she, refilling the glass; “but, holloa, there goes Gregoire at full speed. Ah, scoundrels that ye are, I see what ye’ve done.” And so was it; some of the wild young voltigeur fellows had fastencil a lighted furze-bush to the beast's tail, and had set him at a gallop through the very middle of the encampment, upsetting tents, scattering cookingpans, and tumbling the groups, as they sat, in every direction. The confusion was tremendous, for the picqueted horses jumped about, and some breaking loose, galloped here and there, while others set off with half-unpacked wagons, scattering their loading as they went. It was only when the blazing furze had dropped off that the cause of the whole mischance would suffer himself to be captured, and led quietly back to his mistress. Half-crying with joy, and still wild with anger, she issed the beast, and abused her tormentors by turns. “Cannoniers that ye are," she eried, “ma foil you'll have little taste for fire when the day comes that ye should face it! Pauvre Gregoire, they've left thee a tail like a tirailleur's feather! Plagues light on the thieves that did it! Come here, boy,” said she, addressing me, “hold the bridle; what's thy corps, lad?” “I have none now; I only followed the soldiers from Paris.” “Away with thee, street runner; away with thee, then,” said she, contemptuously; “there are no pockets to pick here; and if there were, thou'd lose thy ears for the doing it. Be off, then ; back with thee to Paris and all its villanies. There are twenty thousand of thy trade there, but there's work for ye all !” “Nay, Mére, don't be harsh with the boy,” said a soldier; “you can see by his coat that his heart is with us.” “And he stole that, I'll be sworn,” said she, pulling me round by the arm, full in front of her. “Answer me, ‘Gamin, where did'st find that old tawdry jacket?” “I got it in a place where, if they had hold of thee and thy bad tongue, it would fare worse with thee than thou thinkest," said I, maddened by the imputed theft and insolence together. “And where may that be, young slip of the galleys?” cried she, angrily. “In the ‘Prison du Temple.’”

“Is that their livery, then 2" said she, laughing, and pointing at me with ridicule, “or is it a family dress made after thy father's?" “My father wore a soldier's coat, and bravely, too,” said I, with difficulty restraining the tears that rose to my eyes. “In what regiment, boy?" asked the soldier who spoke before. “In one that exists no longer,” said I, sadly, and not wishing to allude to a service that would find but slight favour in republican ears. “That must be the 24th of the Line; they were cut to pieces at ‘Tongres." “No-no, he's thinking of the 9th, that got so roughly handled at Fontenoy,” said another. “Of neither,” said I; “I am speaking of those who have left nothing but a name behind them, the ‘Garde du Corps' of the king.” “Voila!” cried Madou, clapping her hands in astonishment at my impertinence; “there's an aristocrat for you! Look at him, mes braves: it's not every day we have the grand seigneurs condescending to come amongst us! You can learn something of courtly manners from the polished descendant of our nobility. Say, boy, art a count, or a baron, or perhaps a duke.” “Make way there—out of the road, Mère Madou,” cried a dragoon, curveting his horse in such a fashion as almost to upset ass and “cantinière" together, “the staff is coming.” The mere mention of the word sent numbers off in full speed to their quarters; and now, all was haste and bustle to prepare for the coming inspection. The Mére's endeavours to drag her beast along were not very successful; for, with the peculiar instinct of his species, the more necessity there was of speed, the lazier he became; and as every one had his own concerns to look after, she was left to her own unaided efforts to drive him forward. “Thou'lt have a day in prison if thou'rt found here, Mère Madou,” said a dragoon, as he struck the ass with the flat of his sabre. “I know it well,” cried she, passionately; “but I have none to help me. Come here, lad; be good-natured, and forget what passed. Take his bridle while I whip him on.” I was at first disposed to refuse, but her pitiful face and sad plight made me think better of it; : # seized the

bridle at once; but just as I had done so, the escort galloped forward, and the dragoons coming on the flank of the miserable beast, over he went, barrels and all, crushing me beneath him as he fell. “Is the boy hurt?” were the last words I heard, for I fainted; but a few minutes after I found myself seated on the grass, while a soldier was staunching the blood that ran freely from a cut in my forehead, “It is a trifle, General—a mere scratch,” said a young officer to an old man on horseback beside him, “and the leg is not broken.” “Glad of it,” said the old officer; “casualties are insufferable, except before an enemy. Send the lad to his regiment.” “He's only a camp-follower, General. He does not belong to us.” “There, my lad, take this, then, and make thy way back to Paris,” said the old general, as he threw me a small piece of money. I looked up, and there, straight before me, saw the same officer who had given me the assignat the night before. “General La Costel” cried I, in delight, for I thought him already a friend. “How is this—have I an acquaintance here?” said he, smiling; “on my life! it's the young rogue I met this morning. Eh! art not thou the artillery-driver I spoke to at the barrack?” “Yes, General, the same.” “Diantre! It seems fated, then, that we are not to part company so easily; for hadst thou remained in Paris, lad, we had most probably never met again.” “Ainsije suis bien tombć,” General, said I, punning upon my accident. He laughed heartily, less I suppose at the jest, which was a poor one, than at the cool impudence with which I uttered it; and then turning to one of the staff, said— “I spoke to Berthollet about this boy already—see that they take him in the 9th. I say, my lad, what's thy name?” “Tiernay, sir.” “Ay, to be sure, Tiernay. Well, Tiernay, thou shalt be a hussar, my man. See that I get no disgrace by the appointment.” I kissed his hand fervently, and the staff rode forward, leaving me the happiest heart that beat in all that crowded host.

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Ir the guide, who is to lead us on a long and devious track, stops at every by-way, following out each path that seems to invite a ramble or suggest a halt, we naturally might feel distrustful of his safe conduct, and uneasy at the prospect of the road before us. In the same way may the reader be disto fear that he who descends to slight and trivial circumstances, will scarcely have time for events which ought to occupy a wider space in his reminiscences; and for this reason I am bound to apologise for the seeming transgression of my last chapter. Most true it is, that were I to relate the entire of my life with a similar diffuseness, my memoir would extend to a length far beyond what I intend it to occupy. Such, however, is very remote from my thoughts. I have dwelt with, perhaps, something of prolixity upon the soldier-life and characteristics of a past day, because I shall yet have to speak of changes, without which the contrast would be inappreciable; but I have also laid stress upon an incident trivial in itself, because it formed an event in my own fortunes. It was thus, in fact, that I became a soldier. Now, the man who carries a musket in the ranks, may very reasonably be deemed but a small ingredient of the mass that forms an army; and in our day his thoughts, hopes, fears, and ambitions are probably as unknown and uncared for, as the precise spot of earth that yielded the ore from which his own weapon was smelted. This is not only reasonable, but it is right. In the time of which I am now speaking it was far otherwise. The Republic, in extinguishing a class had elevated the individual; and now each, in whatever station he occupied, felt himself qualified to entertain opinions and express sentiments, which, because they were his own, he presumed them to be national. The idlers of the streets discussed the deepest questions of politics; the soldiers talked of war £ the presumption of consummate generalship. The great operations of a campaign, and the various qualities of different commanders, were the daily subjects of dispute in the camp. Upon

one topic only were all agreed; and there, indeed, our unanimity repaid all previous discordance. We deemed France the only civilised nation of the globe, and reckoned that people thrice happy who, by any contingency of fortune, engaged our sympathy, or procured the distinction of our presence in arms. We were the heaven-born disseminators of freedom throughout Europe; the sworn enemies of kingly domination; and the missionaries of a political creed, which was not alone to ennoble mankind, but to render its condition eminently happy and prosperous. There could not be an easier lesson to learn than this, and particularly when dinned into your ears all day, and from every rank and grade around you. It was the programme of every message from the Directory; it was the opening of every general order from the General; it was the tabletalk at your mess. The burthen of every song, the title of every military march performed by the regimen. tal band, recalled it, even the ridingmaster, as he followed the recruit around the weary circle, whip in hand, mingled the orders he uttered with apposite axioms upon Republican grandeur. How I think I hear it still, as the grim old quartermaster-serjeant, with his Alsatian accent and deep-toned voice, would call out— “Elbows back!—wrist lower and free from the side—free, I say, as every citizen of a great Republic!—headerect, as a Frenchman has a right to carry it !—chest full out, like one who can breathe the air of Heaven, and ask no leave from king or despot!—down with your heel, sir; think that you crush a tyrant beneath it!” Such and such like were the running commentaries on equitation, till often I forgot whether the lesson had more concern with a seat on horseback or the great cause of monarchy throughout Europe. I suppose, to use a popular phrase of our own day, “the system worked well;” certainly the spirit of the army was unquestionable. From the grim old veteran, with snow-white moustache, to the beardless boy, there was but one

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