Journal of the Waterloo campaign, vol. 1 (of 2) : $b kept throughout the campaign of 1815Mercer, Cavalié
History
Journal of the Waterloo campaign, vol. 1 (of 2) : $b kept throughout the campaign of 1815
Mercer, Cavalié
Mercer, Cavalié, 1783-1868 -- Diaries; Waterloo, Battle of, Waterloo, Belgium, 1815 -- Personal narratives, British
Petit Jean from that moment became our great friend and ally. On
almost all occasions he sided with the soldiers in any little
difference between them and the boors. On one occasion a complaint
had been made to me, by a man who lived near the gate, that one of
our gunners had not only plundered his potato-garden, but had also
otherwise ill-treated him. On my going to investigate the business on
the spot, it turned out that he had struck the gunner. Petit Jean,
who had accompanied me officially, on hearing this, turned suddenly
on the fellow, “You sacré cochon! frapper un militaire; sacré vilain
homme! Quoi!--un vil paysan frapper un militaire? Ah, que cela me
révolte!”--and seizing a stake from the hedge, foaming with unfeigned
anger, he fell on the poor devil, and fairly chased him out of sight,
belabouring him all the way. What English soldier would ever take up
the cudgels against his own countryman because the French soldier was
his brother-in-arms? Whenever his patrol duty did not call him out,
he was sure to be found in the guard-room, or somewhere amongst the
men. He might certainly have been a spy in the camp, for Buonaparte
had most accurate information respecting the state, positions, and
numbers of our army, part of which no doubt was communicated by these
_gardes-champêtres_, who, as before mentioned, were all old French
soldiers, and did not conceal their attachment to the Emperor. Spy
or no spy, Petit Jean was always extremely obliging, and frequently
of most essential service to us. Our equipment was in every way too
perfect to leave any care as to what might be reported of our state;
and as to future movements, we were as ignorant of them as Napoleon
himself. But to return to our story. The row was all over, our mess
party broken up, and I retired to my room; but, alas! on getting into
bed I found sleep impossible--the moat under my window was peopled
with millions of frogs, and such was the horrid croaking of these
little wretches, that sleep was out of the question, and the Van
Voldens were avenged.
CHAPTER VII.
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