A little further on, I saw a man with a sheepskin over his shoulders walking painfully, leaning on his musket. When I got near him, I saw that he was the quarter-master of our company. He uttered a cry of surprise and joy on seeing me, for they had told him I was a prisoner at Wilna. Poor Rossi had both feet frozen, wrapped up in pieces of sheepskin. He told me, that not being able to walk as quickly as the others, he had been separated from the remnant of the regiment, and that our friends were very uneasy about me. Two great tears ran down his cheeks, and he began to weep, saying, 'Poor mother! if you could only see me now! It is all over with me; I shall never see Montauban again' (the place he came from).
I tried to comfort him by pointing out that my situation was still worse than his own. We walked together for part of the day. I was obliged to stop often, owing to my colic.
It might have been noon when I proposed that we should stop at a village that we saw ahead of us. We entered an empty house, and found three unfortunate soldiers, who told us, not being able to go any further, they had resolved to die there. We warned them of the fate that awaited them should they fall into the hands of the Russians. For answer they showed us their feet. Nothing more terrible could be imagined. More than half their toes were missing, and the remainder ready to fall off. The feet were blue in colour, and seemed to be almost mortified. The men belonged to Marshal Ney's corps. Perhaps, when he passed by some time after, he may have saved them.
We stopped long enough to cook a little rice, and we also roasted a little horseflesh to eat later. Then we left, resolving to keep together; but the great crowd of stragglers came up, dragged us with them, and in spite of all our efforts we were separated, and could not find each other again.
I now arrived at a water-mill. There I saw a soldier who, in trying to cross the ice of the little mill-stream, had fallen through it. Although the water was only up to his waist, he could not get out, owing to the pieces of broken ice. Some artillery officers, who had found some ropes in the mill, threw them to him, but he had not strength to catch them; although still living, he was frozen and motionless.
A little further on I heard that the regiment, if it could be still called by that name, was to sleep at Zismorg, still five leagues off. I made up my mind that if I should have to drag myself there upon my knees, I would go; but what trouble it cost me! I fell from exhaustion on the snow, and thought I should rise no more. Happily, since my separation from Rossi the cold had greatly decreased. After superhuman efforts I got to the village; it was none too soon, for I had done all that man could do to escape death.
The first thing I saw on entering was a great fire to the right, against the gable end of a burnt house. Completely exhausted, I dragged myself there; and great was my surprise on seeing my comrades. When I got up to them I fell almost unconscious.
Grangier recognised me, and hurried with some others of my friends to help me; they laid me on some straw. It was the fourth time Grangier and I had met each other since we left Moscow. M. Césarisse, Lieutenant of the company, who had some brandy, made me take a little; then I was given some horse-broth. It tasted very good, for this time it was salted with salt, while so far we had eaten everything salted with powder.
My colic came on again worse than ever; so I called Grangier, and told him I thought I had been poisoned. On this he melted some snow in the little kettle, and brewed me some of the tea he had brought from Moscow. I drank a great deal, and it did me good.
Poor Rossi arrived in as miserable a state as myself. He was accompanied by Sergeant Bailly, whom he had met a moment after his separation from me. It was Sergeant Bailly with whom I had changed the bank-notes at Wilna, and who had drunk coffee with me at the Jew's. He was as ill as I was. He asked me how I was, and when I told him how ill I had been after taking the coffee, he was sure that they had meant to poison us, or at least make us good for nothing.