ind well the campaign in the Valais; the
words keep dinning in my ears to this hour."

"What was that, Pioche?" said I, pleased to see him turn from the
remembrance of his own regrets.

"It is a good while past now,--I forget the year exactly,--but we were
marching on Italy, and it was in spring. Still, the ground was covered
with snow; every night came on with a hailstorm that lasted till nigh
daybreak, and when we arose from the bivouac we were so stiff and frozen
we could not move. They said at the time something went wrong with the
commissariat; but when did it ever go right, I wonder? Ammunition and
provisions were always late; and though the general used to drive away a
commissary every week or ten days for misconduct, the new ones that
came turned out just as bad. The Petit Caporal kept sending them word to
Paris not to send down any more 'savants,' but a good, honest man, with
common sense and active habits. But, _parbleu_, birds of that feather
must have been rare just then, for we never could catch one of them.
Whatever was the cause, we never were so ill off; our shakos were like
wet paper, and took any shape; and out of ridicule we used to come upon
parade with them fashioned into three-cocked hats, and pointed caps, and
slouched beavers. The officers couldn't say a word, you know, all
this time; it was not our fault if we were in such misery. Then, as to
shoes,--a few could boast of the upper leathers, but a sole or a heel
was not to be found in a company. Our coats were actually in rags, and
a pivot sentry looked for all the world like a flagstaff, as he stood
fluttering in the wind.

"We bore up, however, as well as we could, for some time, grumbling
occasionally over our condition, and sometimes laughing at it when we
had the heart; till at last, when we saw the new convoy arrive, and
all the biscuits distributed among the young regiments and the new
conscripts, we could endure it no longer, and a terrible outcry arose
among the troops. We were all drawn up on parade,--it was an inspection;
for, _parbleu!_ though we were as ragged as scarecrows, they would have
us out twice a week to review us, and put us through the manoeuvres.
Scarcely had the general--it was Bonaparte himself--got halfway down
the line, when a shout ran from rank to rank: 'Bread! shoes! caps!
biscuits!'

"'What do I hear?' said Bonaparte, standing up in his stirrups, and
frowning at the line. 'Who are the malcontents that dare to