It was Buche; he had had the courage after he had drank himself, to
fill the bucket, unfasten it, and bring it back with him.
[Illustration: He had had the courage to pull up the bucket.]
Several old soldiers wanted to take it from him, but he shouted, "My
comrade first! let go, or I'll pour it all out!"
They were compelled to wait till I had drank, then they took their
turn, and afterward the others who were upstairs drained the rest.
We all went up together greatly refreshed.
It was about seven o'clock and near sunset, the shadows of the houses
on our side reached quite to the brook--while those occupied by the
Prussians were still in the sunlight, as well as the hill-side of Bry,
down which we could see the fresh troops coming on the run. The
cannonade had never been so fierce as at this moment from our side.
Every one now knows, that at nightfall between seven and eight o'clock
the Emperor, having discovered that the column which had been signalled
in our rear was the corps of General d'Erlon, which had missed its
route between the battle of Ney with the English at Quatre-Bras and
ours here at Ligny, had ordered the Old Guard to support us at once.
The lieutenant who was with us said, "This is the grand attack.
Attention!"
The whole of the Prussian cavalry was swarming between the two
villages. We felt that there was a grand movement behind us, though we
did not see it. The lieutenant repeated, "Attention to orders! Let no
one stay behind after the order to march! Here is the attack!"
We all opened our eyes. The farther the night advanced the redder the
sky grew over St. Amand. We were so absorbed in listening to the
cannonade that, we no longer thought of anything else. At each
discharge you would have said the heavens were on fire. The tumult
behind us was increasing.
Suddenly the broad street running along the brook was full of troops,
from the bridge quite to the end of Ligny. On the left in the distance
the Prussians were shooting from the windows again, while we did not
reply. The shout rose--"The Guard! the Guard!" I do not know how that
mass of men passed the muddy ditch, probably by means of plank thrown
across, but in a moment they were on the left bank in force.
The batteries of the Prussians at the top of the ravine between the two
villages, cut gaps through our columns, but they closed up immediately,
and moved steadily up the hill. What remained of our division ran
across the bridge, followed by the artillerymen and their pieces with
the horses at a gallop.
Then we went down to the street, but we had not reached the bridge when
the cuirassiers began to file over it, followed by the dragoons and the
mounted grenadiers of the guard. They were passing everywhere, across
and around the village. It was like a new and innumerable army.
The slaughter began again on the hill, this time the battle was in the
open fields, and we could trace the outlines of the Prussian squares on
the hill-side at every discharge of musketry.
We rushed on over the dead and wounded, and when we were clear of the
village we could see that there was an engagement between the cavalry,
though we could only distinguish the white cuirasses as they pierced
the lines of the Uhlans; then they would be indiscriminately mingled
and the cuirassiers would re-form and set off again like a solid wall.
It was dark already, and the dense masses of smoke made it impossible
to see fifty paces ahead. Everything was moving toward the windmills,
the clatter of the cavalry, the shouts, the orders of the officers and
the file-firing in the distance, all were confounded. Several of the
squares were broken. From time to time a flash would reveal a lancer
bent to his horse's neck, or a cuirassier, with his broad white back
and his helmet with its floating plume, shooting off like a bullet, two
or three foot soldiers running about in the midst of the fray,--all
would come and go like lightning. The trampled grain, the rain
streaking the heavens, the wounded under the feet of the horses, all
came out of the black night--through the storm which had just broken
out--for a quarter of a second.
Every flash of musket or pistol showed us inexplicable things by
thousands. But everything moved up the hill and away from Ligny; we
were masters.
We had pierced the enemy's centre, the Prussians no longer made any
defence, except at the top of the hill near the mills and in the
direction of Sombref, at our right. St. Amand and Ligny were both in
our hands.
As for us, a dozen or so of our company there alone among the ruins of
the cottages, with our cartridge-boxes almost empty;--we did not know
which way to turn.
Zebede, Lieutenant Bretonville, and Captain Florentin had disappeared,
and Sergeant Rabot was in command. He was a little old fellow, thin
and deformed, but as tough as steel; he squinted and seemed to have had
red hair when young. Now, as I speak of him, I seem to hear him say
quietly to us, "The battle is won! by file right! forward, march!"
Several wanted to stop and make some soup, for we had eaten nothing
since noon and began to be hungry. The sergeant marched down the lane
with his musket on his shoulder, laughing quietly, and saying in an
ironical tone:
"Oh! soup, soup! wait a little, the commissary is coming!"
We followed him down the dark lane; about midway we saw a cuirassier on
horseback with his back toward us. He had a sabre cut in the abdomen
and had retired into this lane, the horse leaned against the wall to
prevent him from falling off.
As we filed past he called out, "Comrades!" But nobody even turned his
head.
Twenty paces farther on we found the ruins of a cottage completely
riddled with balls, but half the thatched roof was still there, and
this was why Sergeant Rabot had selected it; and we filed into it for
shelter.
We could see no more than if we had been in an oven; the sergeant
exploded the priming of his musket, and we saw that it was the kitchen,
that the fireplace was at the right, and the stairway on the left.
Five or six Prussians and Frenchmen were stretched on the floor, white
as wax, and with their eyes wide open.
"Here is the mess-room," said the sergeant, "let every one make himself
comfortable. Our bedfellows will not kick us."
As we saw plainly that there were to be no rations, each one took off
his knapsack and placed it by the wall on the floor for a pillow. We
could still hear the firing, but it was far in the distance on the hill.
The rain fell in torrents. The sergeant shut the door, which creaked
on its hinges, and then quietly lighted his pipe. Some of the men were
already snoring when I looked up, and he was standing at the little
window, in which not a pane of glass remained, smoking.
He was a firm, just man, he could read and write, had been wounded and
had his three chevrons, and ought to have been an officer, only he was
not well formed.
He soon laid his head on his knapsack, and shortly after all were
asleep. It was long after this when I was suddenly awakened by
footsteps and fumbling about the house outside.
I raised up on my elbow to listen, when somebody tried to open the
door. I could not help screaming out. "What's the matter?" said the
sergeant.
We could hear them running away, and Rabot turned on his knapsack
saying:
"Night birds,--rascals,--clear out, or I'll send a ball after you!" He
said no more and I got up and looked out of the window, and saw the
wretches in the act of robbing the dead and wounded. They were going
softly from one to another, while the rain was falling in torrents. It
was something horrible.