I was lying near Poton, who did nothing but groan. I asked him what was the matter. He said: 'My dear fellow, I am certain I shall not be able to go further!'
Without knowing the reason why he talked like this (a serious accident, unknown to us all), I comforted him, telling him that after he had rested he would be much better; but soon after fever came on, and throughout the night he did nothing but cry and wander in his mind. Several times during the night I found him writing in a memorandum-book, and tearing out the leaves.
Once, when I was sleeping peacefully, I felt myself pulled by the arm. It was poor Poton, who said:
'Dear friend, I am utterly unable to leave here—even to take a step—so you must do me a great service. I count on you, if you have the happiness to see France again; if you do not, you must ask Grangier, on whom I count, as I do on you, to carry out my wishes. Here,' he continued, 'is a little packet of papers that you must send to my mother, to the address given, accompanied by a letter, in which you must describe the situation in which you left me, without, however, letting her lose all hope of seeing me again some day. Here is a silver spoon that I beg you will accept; it is far better that you should have it than the Cossacks.'
Then he handed me his little packet of papers, saying again that he counted on me. I promised him to do all he had just told me, but I little thought we should be obliged to leave him.
On December 15th, when we prepared to depart, I repeated to our friends what Poton had told me. They thought he had lost heart, or that he had gone mad, so that each began to chaff him in his own way.
But for sole answer the unhappy Poton showed us two hernias that he had had for a long time, a consequence of the repeated efforts he had made in climbing the bank at Kowno. We saw indeed that it was impossible for him to stir. Sergeant-Major Leboude thought it would be a good thing to leave him with the peasant who owned the house; but before fetching him, as Poton had a good deal of money—above all, gold—we made haste to sew up his gold in the waist-band of his trousers. Then we called the peasant, and, as he spoke German, it was easy to make him understand us. We offered him five five-franc pieces, telling him he should have four times as much, and perhaps more, if he would take care of the sick man. He promised, swearing in the name of God, and that he would even go and fetch a doctor. Then, as time pressed, we took farewell of our comrade.
Before leaving, he made me promise not to forget; we embraced him and left him. I do not know if the peasant kept his word, but never again did I hear Poton spoken of. According to all accounts, he was an excellent fellow, a true comrade, having received a good education, a rare thing at that period. He was a Breton gentleman, belonging to one of the best families of the country.
I religiously fulfilled my mission, for on my arrival at Paris, in the month of May, I sent all the papers to the address given. They contained his will, and the affecting farewell he had written during his fever. I took a copy of one, which I reproduce:
'Adieu, bonne mère,
Mon amie;
Adieu, ma chère,
Ma bonne Sophie!
Adieu, Nantes, où j'ai reçu la vie;
Adieu, belle France, ma patrie;
Adieu, mère chérie:
Je vais quitter la vie—
Adieu!'