To obtain any sort of order, it was announced that men isolated from the rest would get nothing; so after this the men were careful to rejoin their regiments, and choose a head to represent them, as several of the old regiments existed no longer. We of the Imperial Guard crossed the town with extreme difficulty, worn out with fatigue as we were. We had to climb the steep slope which separates the Boristhène from the other gate; this was covered with ice, and at every step the weakest of our men fell and had to be lifted up; others could not walk at all.
In this way we came to the side of the faubourg which had been burnt at the bombardment last August. We settled down as well as we could, in the ruins of those houses the fire had not quite destroyed. The sick and wounded who had had strength and courage enough to come with us were made as comfortable as possible. We were obliged to leave some of them, however, in a hut in a wood, near the entrance of the town, being much too ill to go any farther. Amongst them was a friend of mine, in a dying condition. He had dragged himself so far, hoping to find a hospital, for we had all hoped to stay in this town and the neighbourhood until the spring. Our hopes were disappointed, however, as most of the villages were burnt and in ruins, and the town of Smolensk existed only in name. Nothing was to be seen but the walls of houses built of stone; the greater part of the town had been built of wood, and had disappeared. The town, in fact, was a mere skeleton. If we went any distance in the dark, we came on pitfalls—that is, the cellars belonging to the wooden houses, now completely gone. These cellars were covered with snow, and if any man was so unfortunate as to step on one, he disappeared, and we saw him no more. A great many men were lost in this manner. Their bodies were dragged out again the next day, not for burial, but for the sake of their clothes, or anything else they might have about them. All those who died, whether on the march or while we stopped, were treated in the same way. The living men despoiled the dead, very often, in their turn, dying a few hours afterwards, and being subjected to the same fate.
Soon after our arrival, a little flour was given out to us, and about an ounce of biscuit, more, indeed, than we could have hoped for. Those of us who had a saucepan made hasty pudding; others made cakes, and cooked them in the ashes, devouring them half raw. Several of the men were dangerously ill afterwards, in consequence of the avidity with which they devoured the food. I was lucky enough not to suffer, although I had not tasted soup since November 1st, and the hasty pudding made of rye flour was as heavy as lead.
Many of the sick men who had made gigantic efforts to get here died, and as they occupied the best positions in our miserable ruins, their bodies were hastily removed, so that others could take their places.
After resting a little, in spite of the cold and falling snow, I went out to look for one of my comrades. He was my best and dearest friend; we had been together for seven years, and we had everything in common. His name was Grangier.[26] At Viasma he had gone forward with a detachment, escorting a waggon belonging to Marshal Bessières, and I had not seen him since. I heard that he had arrived two days ago, and was quartered in one of the faubourgs. The hope of seeing him again, and also of sharing his provisions and his quarters, decided me to go at once. Without a word to anyone, I took my knapsack and re-entered the town by the road we had taken, and after falling on the steep and slippery slope several times, I reached the gate by which we had entered.
I stopped to see after the men we had left near the guard at the gate; this guard was composed of men from Baden, who partly formed the garrison. But my surprise was great on seeing the friend we had left with the others, till we could fetch them away, lying at the door of the hut, with nothing on but his trousers; everything had been taken from him, even his boots.
The Baden men told me that soldiers from the regiment had been to fetch the others, and, finding that this man was dead, they had themselves taken his clothes, and that afterwards they had carried away the two sick men, going round the town by the ramparts, hoping to find an easier road. While I was there several wretched men from different regiments came also, leaning on their muskets, hardly able to drag themselves along. Others, who were still on the farther side of the Boristhène, had fallen down in the snow, crying and imploring help. These German soldiers, however, either did not or would not understand. Fortunately, a young officer in command spoke French, and I begged him, in common humanity, to send help to these men over the bridge. He replied that since our arrival more than half his guard had been employed in that way, that there were hardly any men left, and that his guard-room was filled with sick and wounded, till there was no room to move.
However, as I entreated, he sent three men, who came back soon afterwards supporting an old Chasseur of the Cavalry of the Guard. They said they had left many others who would have to be carried, and that in the meantime they had put them near a large fire. The old Chasseur had nearly all his toes frozen, and had wrapped them up in a sheepskin. His beard, whiskers, and moustache were filled with icicles. They led him near a fire, where he sat down, and then he began to curse Alexander, the Emperor of Russia, the country, and the God of Russia. Then he asked me if brandy had been given out.