I listened, and really heard the sound of distant guns.
'Ah, now I can breathe again!' he said; 'the Emperor is not a prisoner, as that fool of an emigrant said yesterday. It had got regularly on my brain, and I should have died of rage and mortification. Now let us go in that direction; it's a safe guide.'
The Israelite assured us that the guns were in the direction of the Bérézina, and my old comrade was so delighted that he began to sing:
Air du Curé de Pomponne.
'Les Autrichiens disaient tout bas;
Les Français vont vite en besogne
Prenez, tandis qu'ils n'y sont pas,
L'Alsace et la Bourgogne.
Ah! tu t'en souviendras, la-ri-ra,
Du depart de Boulogne' (bis).[45]
Half an hour later we could not advance any further, so difficult had our march become; our guide believed he had missed the way. We heard the booming of the guns continually; it might be about mid-day. All at once the sound of the guns ceased, the wind got up again, and the snow began falling in such quantities that we could not see each other, and the poor son of Israel gave up leading the horse. We advised him to mount the beast, which advice he took. I began to feel terribly tired, and uneasy in my mind, but said nothing; while Picart swore like a madman because he could not hear the guns, and at the wind which prevented our hearing. The trees were now so close together that we could not possibly penetrate through them. Every moment something caught our feet, and we fell headlong on the ground half buried in the snow; and after much painful walking we found ourselves at the place we had left an hour before.
We now stopped for a few minutes, drank some of the bad gin which the Jew had given us, and discussed our next move. We decided that we must return to the highroad. I asked the guide if he could take us back to where we had spent the night, in the event of our not being able to find the road. He said he could, but that we must make landmarks where we passed. Picart accomplished this by 'blazing' the young birches and pines as he went along. When we had gone about half a league, we came upon a cottage; it was only just in time, as my strength was now failing me. We decided to halt there for half an hour while we fed the horse, and ourselves also. By a stroke of luck, we found there a quantity of dry wood for burning, two benches made of rough wood, and three sheepskins; these we thought we would take away with us, in case we were obliged to spend the night in the forest.
We warmed ourselves while we ate a piece of horseflesh. Our guide would not touch it, but drew from under his sheepskin cloak a wretched-looking cake of barley-flour mixed with straw, which he begged us to share with him. He swore to us by his father Abraham that he had nothing with him but that and a few nuts. We therefore divided it into four; the Jew took two parts, and we each had one. We also drank a little of the bad gin. When I offered some to him he refused, as he would not drink out of our cup, but he accepted some poured into the hollow of his hand.
Then he told us that the next hut was a good hour's walk off, so we resolved to set out at once for fear of being overtaken by the darkness. The road was so narrow that we had the greatest difficulty in getting along, but Samuel, our guide, had pluck, and kept on assuring us that it would become wider farther on.
As a finishing stroke to our misfortunes, the snow began to fall again heavily, and completely hid the way from us. Our guide burst into tears, saying that he did not know where we were. We tried to retrace our steps, but this was worse, as the snow flew straight in our faces, and now the best thing we could do was to stand against a group of pine-trees, waiting till it pleased God to stop the snow-storm. It lasted for more than half an hour longer. We were almost perished with cold. At times Picart swore, and then he would hum: