to me--a
royalist at heart, and a cynic who was unfailing in his sneers at all
the doings of Napoleon. His attitude was detected, and he was forced to
resign his commission; and his slights upon the uniform I wore grew so
unbearable that I abandoned his company--little guessing the revenge he
would take upon me.

Once more the Grand Army was set in motion, and the hosts of France
pressed upon Russia from the south and west. Napoleon turned the enemy's
right flank, and compelled him to retire and concentrate his troops
around Jena, which was plainly to be the scene of a great battle.

My regiment was ordered on September 13, 1806, to proceed without delay
to the emperor's headquarters at Jena, and I was sent ahead to make
arrangements for quarters. In the darkness I lost my way, and came upon
an artillery battery stuck fast in a ravine, unable to move back or
forwards. The colonel was in despair, for the whole artillery of the
division was following him, and would inevitably be involved in the same
mishap. Wild shouting had been succeeded by a sullen silence, when a
stern voice called out: "Cannoniers, dismount; bring the torches to the
front!"

When the order was obeyed, the light of the firewood fell upon the
features of Napoleon himself. Instantly the work began afresh, directed
by the emperor with a blazing torch in his hand. Gradually the
gun-carriages were released, and began to move slowly along the ravine.
Napoleon turned, and rode off at full speed in the darkness towards
Jena. It was my destination, and I followed him.

He preceded me by about fifty paces--the greatest monarch of the world,
alone, his thoughts bent on the great events before him. On the top of
an ascent the brilliant spectacle of a thousand watch-fires met the eye.
Napoleon, lost in meditation, saw nothing, and rode straight into the
lines. Twice the challenge "_Qui vive?"_ rang out. Napoleon heard it
not. There was a bang of a musket, then another, and another. Napoleon
threw himself from his horse, and lay flat on the ground. I dashed up,
shouting, "The emperor! The emperor!" My horse was killed, and I was
wounded in the shoulder; but I repeated the cry until Napoleon stepped
calmly forward.

"Ye are well upon the alert, _mes enfants_," he said, smiling. Then,
turning to me, he asked quickly, "Are you wounded?"

"A mere scratch, sire."

"Let the surgeon see to it, and do you come to headquarters when you are
able."

In the morning