I had had the fever ever since we left Leipsic; it increased day by day, and I became so weak that I could scarcely rise in the mornings to follow the march. Zébédé looked sadly at me, and sometimes said:
"Courage, Joseph! We will soon be at home!"
These words reanimated me; I felt my face flush.
"Yes, yes!" I said; "we will soon be home; I must see home once more!"
The tears forced themselves to my eyes. Zébédé carried my knapsack when I was tired, and continued:
"Lean on my arm. We are getting nearer every day, now, Joseph. A few dozen leagues are nothing."
My heart beat more bravely, but my strength was gone. I could no longer carry my musket; it was heavy as lead. I could not eat; my knees trembled beneath me; still I did not despair, but kept murmuring to myself: "This is nothing. When you see the spire of Phalsbourg, your fever will leave you. You will have good air, and Catharine will nurse you. All will yet be well!"
Others, no worse than I, fell by the roadside, but still I toiled on; when, near Folde, we learned that fifty thousand Bavarians were posted in the forests through which we were to pass, for the purpose of cutting off our retreat. This was my finishing stroke, for I knew I could no longer load, fire, or defend myself with the bayonet. I felt that all my sufferings to get so far toward home were useless. Nevertheless, I made an effort when we were ordered to march, and tried to rise.
"Come, come, Joseph!" said Zébédé; "courage!"
But I could not move, and lay sobbing like a child.