"What have you to say?" asked the C.O. looking at me.
I had nothing particular to say, my thoughts were busy on an enigma
that might not interest him, namely, why a young officer near him kept
rubbing a meditative chin with a fugitive finger, and why that finger
came down so swiftly when the C.O.'s eyes were turned towards the
young man. I replied to the question by saying "Guilty."
"We know you are guilty," said the C.O. and gave me a little lecture.
I had a reputation, the young men of the regiment looked up to me, an
older man; and by setting a good example I could do a great deal (p. 231)
of good, &c., &c. The lecture was very trying, but the rest of the
proceedings were interesting. I was awarded three extra guards. I only
did one of them.
We hung on the fringe of the Richebourge _melee_, but were not called
into play.
"What was it like?" we asked the men marching back from battle in
the darkness and the rain. There was no answer, they were too weary
even to speak.
"How did you get along in the fight?" I called to one who straggled
along in the rear, his head sunk forward on his breast, his knees
bending towards the ground.
"Tsch! Tsch!" he answered, his voice barely rising above a whisper as
his boots paced out in a rhythm of despair to some village at the
rear.
There in the same place a night later, we saw soldiers' equipments
piled on top of one another and stretching for yards on either side of
the road: packs, haversacks, belts, bayonets, rifles, and cartridge
pouches.
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