‘There could be no doubt either of your judgment, or the sound reasons for it,’ replied the colonel; ‘the only question was, whether you might be unequal to the fatigue.’
‘Trust me, sir, you’ll not have to send me to the rear,’ said I, laughing.
‘Then you are extra on my staff, Monsieur de Tiernay.’
As we walked along, he proceeded to give me the details of our expedition, which was to be on a far stronger scale than I anticipated. Three battalions of infantry, with four light batteries, and as many squadrons of dragoons, were to form the advance.
‘We shall neither want the artillery nor cavalry, except to cover a retreat,’ said he; ‘I trust, if it come to that, there will not be many of us to protect; but such are the general’s orders, and we have but to obey them.’
With the great events of that night on my memory, it is strange that I should retain so accurately in my mind the trivial and slight circumstances, which are as fresh before me as if they had occurred but yesterday.
It was about eleven o’clock, of a dark but starry night, not a breath of wind blowing, that, passing through a number of gloomy, narrow streets, I suddenly found myself in the courtyard of the Balbé Palace. A large marble fountain was playing in the centre, around which several lamps were lighted; by these I could see that the place was crowded with officers, some seated at tables drinking, some smoking, and others lounging up and down in conversation. Huge loaves of black bread, and wicker-covered flasks of country wine, formed the entertainment; but even these, to judge from the zest of the guests, were no common delicacies. At the foot of a little marble group, and before a small table, with a map on it, sat General Masséna himself, in his grey overcoat, cutting his bread with a case-knife, while he talked away to his staff.
‘These maps are good for nothing, Bressi,’ cried he. ‘To look at them, you ‘d say that every road was practicable for artillery, and every river passable, and you find afterwards that all these fine chaussées are bypaths, and the rivulets downright torrents. Who knows the Chiavari road?’
‘Giorgio knows it well, sir,’ said the officer addressed, and who was a young Piedmontese from Massena’s own village.
‘Ah, Birbante!’ cried the general, ‘are you here again?’ and he turned laughingly towards a little bandy-legged monster, of less than three feet high, who, with a cap stuck jauntily on one side of his head, and a wooden sword at his side, stepped forward with all the confidence of an equal.