Though Peter Beaudett could not speak Parisian French he could partially understand and be understood.
“What are they saying?” I asked the French interpreter.
“They say, ‘May God and his holy angels have you all in his keeping!’” he replied. Thus it was that we awkwardly received the blessings of the good, suffering women of France; and I trust in part appreciated them.
“Not all the Germans were bad,” said one old woman; “one young officer helped us, and gave us part of his small piece of bread, and assisted us in getting together things to make us more comfortable.”
This description somehow reminded me of Jot, and his helpful ways.
The clouds had cleared away and, under a star-lit sky, we lay down to the sleep of tired men, with the camp sentinels walking their posts protectingly around us.
CHAPTER XX
AN ADVENTURE OF ARMS
The next morning, when we resumed our march on the heels of the retreating enemy, I was unaccountably depressed. I felt that I was standing on the verge of calamity. I will acknowledge that I am superstitious. Ever since I can remember I have had warnings when unusual trouble was impending. I did not, however, allow this feeling of coming misfortune to impair my work as an officer; for I had no time to consider such minor things as personal feelings, when the interests of my country were looming large ahead of me in battles about to be fought.
The tendencies of a soldier’s life are to make him a fatalist. He gets to feeling and thinking that what is to be will happen, and that he has only to do his duty faithfully as his part in it. And he is confirmed in that belief by the everyday happenings of his adventurous life; so why borrow trouble about that which you can’t help?