While some were well satisfied that Pierre had well established his merits as the conqueror of ‘Grandrengs,’ others quizzed him about the heroism of lying hid in a well, and owing all his glory to a skin of parchment.
‘An’ thou wert with the army of Italy, Pierre,’ said the hussar, ‘thou ‘d have seen men march boldly to victory, and not skulk underground like a mole.’
‘I am tired of your song about this army of Italy,’ broke in the cannonier; ‘we who have served in La Vendée and the North know what fighting means as well, mayhap, as men whose boldest feats are scaling rocks and clambering up precipices. Your Bonaparte is more like one of those Guerilla chiefs they have in the “Basque,” than the general of a French army.’
‘The man who insults the army of Italy, or its chief, insults me!’ said the corporal, springing up, and casting a sort of haughty defiance around him.
‘And then?’—asked the other.
‘And then—if he be a French soldier, he knows what should follow.’
‘Parbleu!’ said the cannonier coolly, ‘there would be little glory in cutting you down, and even less in being wounded by you; but if you will have it so, it’s not an old soldier of the artillery will balk your humour.’
As he spoke, he slowly arose from the ground, and tightening his waist-belt, seemed prepared to follow the other. The rest sprang to their feet at the same time, but not, as I anticipated, to offer a friendly mediation between the angry parties, but in full approval of their readiness to decide by the sword a matter too trivial to be called a quarrel.
In the midst of the whispering conferences as to place and weapons—for the short straight sword of the artillery was very unlike the curved sabre of the hussar—the quick tramp of horses was heard, and suddenly the head of a squadron was seen, as, with glancing helmets and glittering equipments, they turned off the highroad and entered the wood.
‘Here they come!—here come the troops!’ was now heard on every side; and all question of the duel was forgotten in the greater interest inspired by the arrival of the others. The sight was strikingly picturesque; for, as they rode up, the order to dismount was given, and in an instant the whole squadron was at work picketing and unsaddling their horses; forage was shaken out before the weary and hungry beasts, kits were unpacked, cooking utensils produced, and every one busy in preparing for the bivouac. An infantry column followed close upon the others, which was again succeeded by two batteries of field-artillery and some squadrons of heavy dragoons; and now the whole wood, far and near, was crammed with soldiers, waggons, caissons, and camp equipage. To me the interest of the scene was never-ending—life, bustle, and gaiety on every side. The reckless pleasantry of the camp, too, seemed elevated by the warlike accompaniments of the picture—the caparisoned horses, the brass guns, blackened on many a battlefield, the weather-seamed faces of the hardy soldiers themselves, all conspiring to excite a high enthusiasm for the career.