Franco-Prussian War, 1870-1871 -- Fiction; War stories
But Lieutenant Rochas, passing by just then, made them be silent. It
was scandalous, never to think of anything but their stomachs! When
_he_ was hungry he tightened up the buckle of his trousers. Now that
things were becoming decidedly squally and the popping of rifles was to
be heard occasionally in the distance, he had recovered all his old
serene confidence: it was all plain enough, now; the Prussians were
there—well, all they had to do was, go out and lick ’em. And he gave a
significant shrug of the shoulders, standing behind Captain Beaudoin,
the _very_ young man, as he called him, with his pale face and pursed
up lips, whom the loss of his baggage had afflicted so grievously that
he had even ceased to fume and scold. A man might get along without
eating, at a pinch, but that he could not change his linen was a
circumstance productive of sorrow and anger.
Maurice awoke to a sensation of despondency and physical discomfort.
Thanks to his easy shoes the inflammation in his foot had gone down,
but the drenching he had received the day before, from the effects of
which his greatcoat seemed to weigh a ton, had left him with a distinct
and separate ache in every bone of his body. When he was sent to the
spring to get water for the coffee he took a survey of the plain on the
edge of which Boult-aux-Bois is situated: forests rise to the west and
north, and there is a hill crowned by the hamlet of Belleville, while,
over to the east, Buzancy way, there is a broad, level expanse,
stretching far as the eye can see, with an occasional shallow
depression concealing a small cluster of cottages. Was it from that
direction that they were to expect the enemy? As he was returning from
the stream with his bucket filled with water, the father of a family of
wretched peasants hailed him from the door of his hovel, and asked him
if the soldiers were this time going to stay and defend them. In the
confusion of conflicting orders the 5th corps had already traversed the
region no less than three times. The sound of cannonading had reached
them the day before from the direction of Bar; the Prussians could not
be more than a couple of leagues away. And when Maurice made answer to
the poor folks that doubtless the 7th corps would also be called away
after a time, their tears flowed afresh. Then they were to be abandoned
to the enemy, and the soldiers had not come there to fight, whom they
saw constantly vanishing and reappearing, always on the run?
“Those who like theirs sweet,” observed Loubet, as he poured the
coffee, “have only to stick their thumb in it and wait for it to melt.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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