Adventure stories, English; France -- History -- Consulate and First Empire, 1799-1815 -- Fiction; Soldiers of fortune -- Fiction
It was an affecting scene to see the hurried gestures, and hear the few
words of adieu, as they passed each other. Old comrades who were never
to meet again, parted with a little motion of the hand; sometimes a mere
look was all their leave-taking, save when, now and then, a halt would
for a few seconds bring the lines together, and then many a bronzed and
rugged cheek was pressed upon the faces of the dying, and many a tear
fell from eyes bloodshot with the fury of the battle! Wending our way on
foot slowly along, we at last reached the river-side, and having secured
a small skiff, made for the Eslar island--our first business being to
ascertain some details respecting the intrenchments there, and the depth
and strength of the stream between it and the left bank. Discau, who
was a distinguished officer, rapidly possessed himself of the principal
facts he wanted, and then, having given me his portfolio, he seated
himself under the shelter of a broken waggon, and opening a napkin,
began his breakfast off a portion of a chicken and some bread-viands
which, I own, more than once made my lips water as I watched him.
‘You’ve eaten nothing to-day, Tiernay?’ asked he, as he wiped his lips
with the air of a man that feels satisfied.
‘Nothing, _mon capitaine?_ replied I.
‘That’s bad,’ said he, shaking his head; ‘a soldier cannot do his duty
if his rations be neglected. I have always maintained the principle:
Look to the men’s necessaries--take care of their food and clothing. Is
there anything on that bone there?’
‘Nothing, _mon capitaine_.’
‘I’m sorry for it--I meant it for you. Put up that bread, and the
remainder of that flask of wine. Bourdeaux is not to be had every day.
We shall want it for supper, Tiernay.’
I did as I was bid, wondering not a little why he said ‘we,’ seeing how
little a share I occupied in the copartnery.
‘Always be careful of the morrow on a campaign, Tiernay--no squandering,
no waste; that’s one of my principles,’ said he gravely, as he watched
me while I tied up the bread and wine in the napkin. ‘You’ll soon see
the advantage of serving under an old soldier.’
I confess the great benefit had not already struck me, but I held my
peace and waited; meanwhile he continued--
‘I have studied my profession from my boyhood, and one thing I have
acquired that all experience has confirmed--the knowledge that men must
neither be taxed beyond their ability nor their endurance. A French
soldier, after all, is human; eh, is’t not so?’
‘I feel it most profoundly, _mon capitaine_,’ replied I, with my hand on
my empty stomach.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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