I remember that, just after this incident, the Emperor was talking to Murat, laughing at the narrow escape he had had of being taken. Monfort, the Grenadier-vélite from Valenciennes, again distinguished himself, killing and wounding many Cossacks.
We waited for some time longer in this place, and then resumed our march, leaving Kalonga on the left. We crossed a muddy river by a very bad bridge, and took the direction of Mojaisk. It began to freeze during the night.
On the 28th we started very early, and during the day, after passing over a little river, we arrived at the famous battlefield (the Moskowa), covered all over with the dead, and with débris of all kinds. Legs, arms, and heads lay on the ground. Most of the bodies were Russians, as ours had been buried, as far as possible; but, as everything had been very hastily done, the heavy rain had uncovered many of them. It was a sad spectacle, the dead bodies hardly retaining a human resemblance. The battle had been fought fifty-two days before.
Further on we fixed our bivouac, passing on our way the great redoubt where General Caulaincourt had been killed and buried. We sheltered ourselves as well as we could, and made a fire with broken remains of rifles, carts, gun-carriages. We had no water, however, for the little stream flowing near was full of decaying bodies. We had to go a quarter of a league to find any fit for drinking. When we had everything settled, I went with a friend[23] to explore the battlefield; we went as far as the ravine where Murat had pitched his tents.
On that same day a report went round that a French Grenadier had been found still living on the battlefield. He had both his legs cut off, and was sheltered by the body of a horse, whose flesh he had eaten to keep himself alive. His drink was the water from the stream full of the dead bodies of his comrades. I heard that he was saved—and no doubt for the time it was true—but afterwards he would be left behind, like so many others. That evening many whose store of provisions had come to an end began to feel hunger. Up till then everyone contributed his share of flour for the soup; but now, seeing that some did not contribute, men began to hide what they had to keep it for themselves. The soup made out of horseflesh—which we had eaten for the last few days—was all we had to eat in common.
On the following day we passed near a convent, used as a hospital for many of our wounded in the great battle. Many of them were still there, and the Emperor gave orders for them to be taken away on any of the carts, beginning with his own; but the canteen men, who had the care of these unfortunate people, left them for one pretext or another on the road, in order to keep all the booty they had brought from Moscow, which filled their carts.
We slept that night in a wood behind Ghjat, where the Emperor stayed. Snow fell for the first time during the night.
The next day (the 30th) the road had become very heavy, and many carts laden with booty had the greatest difficulty in getting along. Several were damaged, and others were lightened by throwing away useless parts of the load. I was that day in the rear-guard, and could see from the extreme rear of the column the beginning of the frightful disorder that followed. The road was heaped with valuable things—pictures, candlesticks, and quantities of books. For more than an hour I was picking up volumes, which I glanced through, and then threw down again, to be taken up by others, who in their turn left them on the road—books such as Voltaire, Jean Jacques Rousseau, and Buffon's 'Natural History,' bound in red morocco and gold.
I had the good fortune that day to obtain a bearskin coat found by a man in our company in a broken-up waggon. On the same day our cantinière lost her cart containing our provisions, and our beautiful silver punch-bowl of so many pleasant memories.
On the 30th we got to Viasma—called by our men Ville au Schnaps, on account of all the brandy they had found there on going to Moscow. The Emperor stopped here, but our regiment went forward.