Tom Burke Of "Ours" Volume I Part 60

"'What part of France do these fellows come from?'

"'Alsace, mon gnral,' was the answer from every one.

"'I thought so, I thought so,' said he; 'Sybarites, all.'

"'No, mon gnral, grenadiers of the Fourth. Milhaud's brigade,' said I.

And with that he turned away, and we could hear him laughing long after he galloped off. I saw he mistook us," said Pioche, "and that he could not be angry with the old Fourth."

"You must have seen a great deal of hards.h.i.+p, Pioche," said I, as he came to a pause, and wis.h.i.+ng to draw him on to speak more of his campaigns.

"_Ma foi!_ there were few who saw service from '92 to '97 had not their share of it. But they were brave times, too; every battle had its day of promotion afterwards. Le Pet.i.t Caporal would ride down the ranks with his staff, looking for this one, and asking for that. 'Where 's the adjutant of the Sixth?' 'Dead, mon gnral.' 'Where 's the colonel of the Voltigeurs?' 'Badly wounded.' 'Carry him this sabre of honor.' 'Who fell over the Austrian standard, and carried away the fragment of the drapeau?' 'One of my fellows. General; here he is.' 'And what is your name, my brave fellow?'"

The corporal paused here, and drew a deep breath; and after a few seconds' pause, added in altered tone, "_Sacristi!_ they were fine times!"

"But what did he say to the soldier that took the colors?" asked I, impatiently. "Who was he?"

"It was I," replied Pioche himself, in a deep voice, where pride and devotion struggled powerfully together.

"You, Pioche! indeed! Well, what said the general when he saw you?"

"'Ah, Pioche,' said he, gayly, 'my old friend of Toulouse!'

"'Yes, Gnral,' said I, 'we 've had some warm work together.'

"'True, Pioche, and may again perhaps. But you've been made a corporal since that; what am I to do for you now?'

"This was a puzzling question, and I did not know how to answer it, and he repeated it before I could make up my mind.

"'Is there nothing, then, in which I can be of use to Corporal Pioche?'

"'Yes, mon gnral,' said I, 'there is.'

"'Speak it out, man, then; what is it?'

"'I wish, then, you 'd rate the commissary-general of our division for one blunder he's ever making. The powder they serve us out is always wet, and our bread is as hard as _mitraille_. Neither bayonets nor teeth will last forever, you know, Gnral.' And he burst out a-laughing before I finished.

"'Rest a.s.sured, Pioche, I'll look to this,' said he; and he kept his word."

"But why didn't you ask for promotion?" said I. "What folly, was it not, to throw away such a chance? You might have been an officer ere this."

"No," replied he, with a sorrowful shake of the head; "that was impossible."

"But why so? Bonaparte knew you well; he often noticed you."

"True; all true," said he, more sadly than before. "But then--"

"What, then?" asked I, with more of interest than delicacy at the moment.

"I never learned to read," said Pioche, in a low voice, which trembled with agitation, while he drew his swarthy hand across his eyes, and was silent.

The few words so spoken thrilled most powerfully within me. I saw that I had awakened the saddest thoughts of the poor fellow's heart, and would have given worlds to be able to recall my question. Here, then, was the corroding sorrow of his life,--the grief that left its impress on his stern features, and tinged with care the open brow of the brave soldier.

Each moment our silence was prolonged made it still more poignant, but I made an effort to break it, and happily with success.

"After all, Pioche," said I, laying my hand on his arm, "I would willingly exchange my epaulettes for these stripes on your sleeve, to have had Bonaparte speak to me as he has spoken to you; that was a prouder distinction than any other, and will be a fonder recollection, too, hereafter."

"Do you think so, mon lieutenant?" said the poor fellow, turning round quickly, as a faint smile played about his features--"do you think so?

_Sacristi!_ I have said as much to myself sometimes, when I've been alone. And then I 've almost thought I could hear his kind, soft voice ringing in my ears; for it is kind and soft as a woman's, when he pleases, though, parbleu! it can call like a trumpet at other times,--ay, and tingle within your heart till it sets your blood boiling and makes your hands twitch. I mind well the campaign in the Valais; the words keep dinning in my ears to this hour."

"What was that, Pioche?" said I, pleased to see him turn from the remembrance of his own regrets.

"It is a good while past now,--I forget the year exactly,--but we were marching on Italy, and it was in spring. Still, the ground was covered with snow; every night came on with a hailstorm that lasted till nigh daybreak, and when we arose from the bivouac we were so stiff and frozen we could not move. They said at the time something went wrong with the commissariat; but when did it ever go right, I wonder? Ammunition and provisions were always late; and though the general used to drive away a commissary every week or ten days for misconduct, the new ones that came turned out just as bad. The Pet.i.t Caporal kept sending them word to Paris not to send down any more 'savants,' but a good, honest man, with common sense and active habits. But, _parbleu_, birds of that feather must have been rare just then, for we never could catch one of them.

Whatever was the cause, we never were so ill off; our shakos were like wet paper, and took any shape; and out of ridicule we used to come upon parade with them fas.h.i.+oned into three-c.o.c.ked hats, and pointed caps, and slouched beavers. The officers couldn't say a word, you know, all this time; it was not our fault if we were in such misery. Then, as to shoes,--a few could boast of the upper leathers, but a sole or a heel was not to be found in a company. Our coats were actually in rags, and a pivot sentry looked for all the world like a flagstaff, as he stood fluttering in the wind.

"We bore up, however, as well as we could, for some time, grumbling occasionally over our condition, and sometimes laughing at it when we had the heart; till at last, when we saw the new convoy arrive, and all the biscuits distributed among the young regiments and the new conscripts, we could endure it no longer, and a terrible outcry arose among the troops. We were all drawn up on parade,--it was an inspection; for, _parbleu!_ though we were as ragged as scarecrows, they would have us out twice a week to review us, and put us through the manoeuvres.

Scarcely had the general--it was Bonaparte himself--got halfway down the line, when a shout ran from rank to rank: 'Bread! shoes! caps!

biscuits!'

"'What do I hear?' said Bonaparte, standing up in his stirrups, and frowning at the line. 'Who are the malcontents that dare to cry out on parade? Let them stand out; let me see them.'

"And at once more than half the regiment of grenadiers sprang forward, and shouted louder than before, 'Bread! bread! let us have food and clothing! If we are to fight, let us not die of hunger!'

"'Grenadiers of the Fourth,' cried he, in a terrible voice, 'to your ranks! Second division, and third!' shouted he, with his hand up, 'form in square!--carry arms!--present arms! front rank, kneel! Kneel!' said he, again louder; for you know we never did that in those days. However, every word was obeyed, and down dropped the leading files on their knees; and there we were rooted to the ground. Not a man spoke; all silent as death.

"He then advanced to the front of the staff, and pointing his hand to a convoy of wagons that could just be seen turning the angle of the road, with white flags flying, to show what they were, called out, 'Commissary-general, distribute full rations and half ammunition to the young regiments; half rations and full ammunition to the veterans of Egypt!' A shout of applause burst out; but he cried louder than before, 'Silence in the ranks!' Then, taking off his chapeau, he stood bareheaded before us; and in a voice like the bugle that blows the charge, he read from a large paper in his hand, 'In the name of the French Republic, one and indivisible. The Directory of the nation decrees, that the thanks of the Government be given to the Grenadiers of the Fourth, who have deserved well of their country. Vive la Rpublique!'

"'Vive la Rpublique!' shouted the whole square in a roar, like the sea itself. Who thought more of hards.h.i.+ps or hunger then? Our only desire was when we were to meet the enemy; and many a jest and many a laugh went round as we loaded our pouches with the new ammunition.

"'Who's that fellow yonder?' said Bonaparte, as he rode slowly down the line. 'I should know him, I think. Is n't that Pioche?'

"'Yes, mon gnral,' said I, saluting him; 'it is what remains of poor Pioche,--_parbleu!_ very little more than half, though.'

"'Ah, glutton!' said he, laughing, 'I ought to have guessed you were here; one such gourmand is enough to corrupt a whole brigade.'

"'Pioche is a good soldier, citizen-general, 'said my captain, who was an old schoolfellow of mine.

"'I know it, Captain,' said the general.

"'You were in Excelmans's dragoons, Pioche, if mistake not?'

"Two years and ten months, citizen-general.'

"'Why did you leave them, and when?'

"'At Monte Bello, with the colonel's permission.'

"'And the reason?'

"'_Morbleu!_ it was a fancy I had. They killed two horses under me that day, and I saw I was not destined for the cavalry.'