ugh, _parbleu!_ I should think so too! but when the white-coats
manoeuvre, they write to Vienna to ask, "What's to be done next?"'

This passing remark, in which, with all its exaggeration, there lay a
germ of truth, was the universal judgment of our soldiers on those of
the Imperial army; and to the prevalence of the notion may be ascribed
much of that fearless indifference with which small divisions of ours
attacked whole army corps of the enemy. Bonaparte was the first to point
out this slowness, and to turn it to the best advantage.

'If our general ever intended a sortie, this would be the night for it,
sir,' resumed he; 'the noise of those mountain streams would mask the
sounds of a march, and even cavalry, if led with caution, might be in
upon them before they were aware.'

This speech pleased me, not only for the judgment it conveyed, but as an
assurance that our expedition was still a secret in the garrison.

On questioning the sergeant further, I was struck to find that he had
abandoned utterly all hope of ever seeing France again; such, he told
me, was the universal feeling of the soldiery. 'We know well, sir,
that Massena is not the man to capitulate, and we cannot expect to
be relieved' And yet with this stern, comfortless conviction on their
minds--with hunger, and famine, and pestilence on every side--they never
uttered one word of complaint, not even a murmur of remonstrance. What
would Moreau's fellows say of us? What would the army of the Meuse
think? These were the ever-present arguments against surrender; and
the judgment of their comrades was far more terrible to them than the
grapeshot of the enemy.

'But do you not think, when Bonaparte crosses the Alps, he will hasten
to our relief?'

'Not he, sir! I know him well. I was in the same troop with him, a
bombardier at the same gun. Bonaparte will never go after small game
where there's a nobler prey before him. If he does cross the Alps, he'll
be for a great battle under Milan; or, mayhap, march on Venice. He's
not thinking of our starved battalions here; he's planning some great
campaign, depend on it. He never faced the Alps to succour Genoa.'

How true was this appreciation of the great general's ambition, I need
scarcely repeat; but so it was at the time; many were able to guess the
bold aspirings of one who, to the nation, seemed merely one among the
numerous candidates for fame and honours.

It was about an hour after my conversation wi