ere who reported. Every one had got up and equipped
himself at the appointed hour; not one was missing at roll-call; they
had all assembled of their own accord; the corporals had not needed to
knock at door after door to wake the sleepers. Our Chasseurs had very
quickly established simple customs and rules of their own which
ensured the regularity of the service without written orders. This
intelligent and spontaneous discipline is one of the most admirable
features of this campaign. It has grown up by degrees, without any
special orders or prescriptions from above, with the result that the
hardest labours are carried out almost without supervision, because
each man understands the end in view and the grim necessities which it
involves.

They understood at once that this early hour was the only one at which
the relief could be effected. And every other day, just as on that
December morning, twenty-five men out of each squadron get up at
half-past one, equip themselves, and saddle their horses, whilst the
cooks warm up a good cup of coffee for each man. Then, without any
hurry, but at the exact moment, they form up in fighting order at the
appointed spot, and when the officer arrives, in the dark, rain, wind,
snow, or frost, he is sure of receiving the same report:

"All present, _mon Lieutenant!_"

Quick! Mount. We shall feel the cold less trotting over the hardened
roads this bright night and under this brilliant moon. Two and two, in
silence, we issued from the village in the direction of R. I knew that
I should find a little further on, at the cross-roads where the
crucifix stands, the fifty men of the first half-regiment and
Second-Lieutenant de G., who serves under me.

Yes, there he was, coming to meet me on the hard road. It was a joy to
me that chance had given me this jolly fellow for my trench companion.
I hardly knew him, for he had not been with us more than a few days.
Taken from the Military College directly war was declared, he had
first been sent to a reserve squadron, and had only just been
appointed to an active regiment. But I already knew, through my
comrades of the first squadron, that he was a daring soldier and a
merry companion. So much the better, I thought. War is a sad thing,
and one must learn to take it gaily. A plague on gloomy spirits and
long faces! True, we can no longer wage the picturesque war of the
"good old days." We shall never know another Fontenoy, or Rivoli, or
Eylau. But t