That same day we went as far as Bitche; the next, to Hornbach; then to
Kaiserslautern. It began to snow again.
How often during that long march did I sigh for the thick cloak of
Monsieur Goulden, and his double-soled shoes.
We passed through innumerable villages, sometimes on the mountains,
sometimes in the plains. As we entered each little town, the drums
began to beat, and we marched with heads erect, marking the step,
trying to assume the mien of old soldiers. The people looked out of
their little windows, or came to the doors, saying, "There go the
conscripts!"
At night we halted, glad to rest our weary feet--I, especially. I
cannot say that my leg hurt me, but my feet! I had never undergone
such fatigue. With our billet for lodging we had the right to a corner
of the fire, but our hosts also gave us a place at the table. We had
nearly always buttermilk and potatoes, and often fresh cheese or a dish
of sauerkraut. The children came to look at us, and the old women
asked us from what place we came, and what our business was before we
left home. The young girls looked sorrowfully at us, thinking of their
sweethearts, who had gone five, six, or seven months before. Then they
would take us to their son's bed. With what pleasure I stretched out
my tired limbs! How I wished to sleep all our twelve hours' halt! But
early in the morning, at daybreak, the rattling of the drums awoke me.
I gazed at the brown rafters of the ceiling, the window-panes covered
with frost, and asked myself where I was. Then my heart would grow
cold, as I thought that I was at Bitche--at Kaiserslautern--that I was
a conscript; and I had to dress fast as I could, catch up my knapsack,
and answer the roll-call.
"A good journey to you!" said the hostess, awakened so early in the
morning.
"Thank you," replied the conscript.
And we marched on.
Yes! a good journey to you! They will not see you again, poor wretch!
How many others have followed the same road!
I will never forget how at Kaiserslautern, the second day of our march,
having unstrapped my knapsack to take out a white shirt, I discovered,
beneath, a little pocket, and opening it I found fifty-four francs in
six-livre pieces. On the paper wrapped around them were these words,
written by Monsieur Goulden:
"While you are at the wars, be always good and honest. Think of your
friends and of those for whom you would be willing to sacrifice your
life, and treat the enemy with humanity that they may so treat our
soldiers. May Heaven guide you, and protect you in your dangers! You
will find some money enclosed; for it is a good thing, when far from
home and all who love you, to have a little of it. Write to us as
often as you can. I embrace you, my child, and press you to my heart."
As I read this, the tears forced themselves to my eyes, and I thought,
"Thou are not wholly abandoned, Joseph: fond hearts are yearning toward
you. Never forget their kind counsels."
At last, on the fifth day, about ten o'clock in the evening, we entered
Mayence. As long as I live I will remember it. It was terribly cold.
We had begun our march at early dawn, and long before reaching the
city, had passed through villages filled with soldiers--cavalry,
infantry, dragoons in their short jackets--some digging holes in the
ice to get water for their horses, others dragging bundles of forage to
the doors of the stables; powder-wagons, carts full of cannon-balls,
all white with frost, stood on every side; couriers, detachments of
artillery, pontoon-trains, were coming and going over the white ground;
and no more attention was paid to us than if we were not in existence.
Captain Vidal, to warm himself, had dismounted and marched with us on
foot. The officers and sergeants hastened us on. Five or six Italians
had fallen behind and remained in the villages, no longer able to
advance. My feet wore sore and burning, and at the last halt I could
scarcely rise to resume the march. The others from Phalsbourg,
however, kept bravely on.
Night had fallen; the sky sparkled with stars. Every one gazed
forward, and said to his comrade, "We are nearing it! we are nearing
it!" for along the horizon a dark line of seeming cloud, glittering
here and there with flashing points, told that a great city lay before
us.
At last we entered the advanced works, and passed through the zigzag
earthen bastions. Then we dressed our ranks and marked the step, as we
usually did when approaching a town. At the corner of a sort of
demilune we saw the frozen fosse of the city, and the brick ramparts
towering above, and opposite us an old, dark gate, with the drawbridge
raised. Above stood a sentinel, who, with his musket raised, cried out:
"Who goes there?"
The captain, going forward alone, replied:
"France!"
"What regiment?"
"Recruits for the Sixth of the Line."
A silence ensued. Then the drawbridge was lowered, and the guard
turned out and examined us, one of them carrying a great torch.
Captain Vidal, a few paces in advance of us, spoke to the commandant of
the post, who called out at length:
"Pass when you please."
Our drums began to beat, but the captain ordered them to cease, and we
crossed a long bridge and passed through a second gate like the first.
Then we were in the streets of the city, which were paved with smooth
round stones. Every one tried his best to march steadily; for,
although it was night, all the inns and shops along the way were opened
and their large windows were shining, and hundreds of people were
passing to and fro as if it were broad day.
We turned five or six corners and soon arrived in a little open place
before a high barrack, where we were ordered to halt.
There was a shed at the corner of the barrack, and in it a _cantiniere_
seated behind a small table, under a great tri-colored umbrella from
which hung two lanterns.
Several officers came up as soon as we halted: they were the Commandant
Gemeau and some others whom I have since known. They pressed our
captain's hand laughing, then looked at us and ordered the roll to be
called. After that, we each received a ration of bread and a billet
for lodging. We were told that roll-call would take place the next
morning at eight o'clock for the distribution of arms, and then, we
were ordered to break ranks, while the officers turned up a street to
the left and went into a great coffee-house, the entrance of which was
approached by a flight of fifteen steps.
But we, with our billets for lodging--what were we to do with them in
the middle of such a city, and, above all, the Italians, who did not
know a word either of German or French?
My first idea was to see the _cantiniere_ under her umbrella. She was
an old Alsatian, round and chubby, and, when I asked for the
_Capougner-Strasse_, she replied:
"What will you pay for?"