We passed through a large and beautiful village, pillaged and abandoned
also.
Farther on we met some peasants, who scowled at us from the road-side.
We must have had ill-looking faces, especially Buche with his head
bound up, and his beard eight days old, thick and hard as the bristles
of a boar.
About one o'clock in the afternoon we re-crossed the Sambre, by the
bridge of Chatelet, but as the Prussians were still in pursuit we did
not halt there. I was quite at ease, thinking:
"If they are still pursuing us, they will follow the bulk of the army,
in order to take more prisoners and pick up the cannon, caissons, and
baggage."
This was the manner in which we were compelled to reason, we, who three
days before had made the world tremble.
I recollect that when we reached a small village about three o'clock in
the afternoon, we stopped at a blacksmith's shop to ask for water. The
country people immediately began to gather round, and the smith, a
large, dark man, asked us to go to the little inn, opposite, saying he
would join us and take a glass of beer with us.
Naturally enough this pleased us, for we were afraid of being arrested,
and we saw that these people were on our side.
I remembered that I had some money in my knapsack, and that now it
would be useful.
We went into the inn, which was only a little shop, with two small
windows on the street, and a round door opening in the middle, as is
common in our country villages.
When we were seated the room was so full of men and women, who had come
to hear the news, that we could hardly breathe.
The smith came. He had taken off his leather apron and put on a little
blue blouse, and we saw at once that he had five or six men with him.
They were the mayor and his assistant, and the municipal councillors of
the place.
They sat down on the benches opposite, and ordered the favorite sour
beer of the country for us to drink. Buche asked for some bread; the
innkeeper's wife brought us a whole loaf and a large piece of beef in a
porringer.
All urged us to "Eat, eat!" When one or another would ask us a
question about the battle, the smith or the mayor would say:
"Let the men finish, you can see plainly that they have come a long
way."
And it was only when we had finished eating, that they questioned us,
asking if it was true that the French had lost a great battle. The
first report was that we were the victors, but afterward they heard a
rumor that we were defeated.
We understood that they were speaking of Ligny, and that their ideas
were confused. I was ashamed to tell that we were overthrown; I looked
at Buche, and he said:
"We have been betrayed. The traitors revealed our plans. The army was
full of traitors, who cried, 'Sauve qui peut!' How was it possible for
us not to lose, under such circumstances?"
It was the first time I had heard treason spoken of; some of the
wounded, it is true, had said, "We are betrayed," but I had paid no
attention to their words, and when Buche relieved us from our
embarrassment by this means, I was glad of it, though I was astonished.
The people sympathized with us in our indignation against the traitors.
Then we were obliged to explain the battle and the treason. Buche said
the Prussians had fallen upon us through the treason of Marshal Grouchy.
This seemed to me to be going too far, but the peasants in their pity
for us had made us drink again and again, and had given us pipes and
tobacco, and at last I said the same as Buche. It was not till after
we had left the place that the recollection of our shameful falsehoods
made me ashamed of myself, and I said to Buche:
"Do you know, Jean, that our lies about the traitors were not right?
If every one tells as many, we shall all be traitors, and the Emperor
will be the only true man amongst us. It is a disgrace to the country
to say that we have so many traitors; it is not true."
"Bah! bah!" said he. "We have been betrayed; if we had not, the
English and Prussians could never have forced us to retreat."
We did nothing but dispute this point till eight o'clock in the
evening. By this time we had reached a village called Bouvigny.
We were so tired that our legs were as stiff as stakes, and for a long
while we had needed a great deal of courage to take a single step.
We were certain that the Prussians were no longer near, and as I had
money we went into an inn and asked for a bed.
I took out a six-franc piece in order to let them see that we could
pay. I had resolved to change my uniform the next day, to leave my gun
and knapsack and cartridge-box here and to go home, for I believed that
the war was over, and I rejoiced in the midst of my misfortunes that I
had escaped with my arms and legs.
Buche and I slept that night in a little room, with a Holy Virgin and
infant Jesus in a niche between the curtains over our heads, and we
rested like the blessed in heaven.
The next morning, instead of keeping on our way, we were so glad to sit
on a comfortable chair in the kitchen, to stretch our legs and smoke
our pipes as we watched the kettles boiling, that we said, "Let us stay
quietly here. To-morrow we shall be well rested, and we will buy two
pairs of linen pantaloons, and two blouses, we will cut two good sticks
from a hedge, and go home by easy stages."
The thought of these pleasant plans touched us. And it was from this
inn that I wrote to Catherine and Aunt Gredel and Mr. Goulden. I wrote
only a word:
"I have escaped, let us thank God, I am coming, I embrace you a
thousand times with all my heart.
"JOSEPH BERTHA."
I thanked God as I wrote, but a great many things were to happen before
I should mount our staircase at the corner of the rue Fouquet opposite
the "Red Ox." When one has been taken by conscription he must not be
in a hurry to write that he is released. That happiness does not
depend upon us, and the best will in the world helps nothing.
I sent off my letter by the post, and we stayed all that day at the inn
of the "Golden Sheep."
After we had eaten a good supper, we went up to our beds, and I said to
Buche, "Ha! Jean, to do what you please is quite a different thing
from being forced to respond to the roll-call."
We both laughed in spite of the misfortunes of the country, of course
without thinking, otherwise we should have been veritable rascals.
For the second time we went to sleep in our good bed, when about one
o'clock in the morning we were wakened in a most extraordinary manner:
the drums were beating and we heard men marching all over the village.