ot of invading
other countries, but of defending our own.

Catherine was asleep when the morning came for my departure, and I was
glad to escape the pain of saying "good-bye." At the barracks, Zebede,
who was now a sergeant, led me into the soldiers' room, and I put on my
uniform. Then the battalion defiled through the gates, the soldiers at
the outworks presented arms, and we were on the way to Waterloo.

It was useless to think of stopping in Metz. We arrived in that city of
Jews and soldiers after five days' march, and were at once, after our
night's rest, supplied with ammunition. I saw that my only chance of
staying at the workshops of Metz would be after the campaign was over,
for we were on the march the very next morning. Zebede was not always
with me now, and my closest comrade was Jean Buche, the son of a
sledge-maker at Harberg, who had never eaten anything better than
potatoes before he became a conscript. Buche turned in his feet in
walking, but he never seemed to know the meaning of being tired, and in
his own fashion was a wonderful pedestrian.

From Metz we marched through Thionville, Chatelet, Etain, Dannevoux,
Yong, Vivier, and Cul-de-Sard. All our troops were pouring into
Belgium--cavalry, infantry, and artillery--and though there were no
signs of the enemy, it was reported that we were to attack the English.
I thought as well English as Prussians, Austrians, or Russians, since we
were to kill each other.

On the night of June 14 we bivouacked outside the village of Roly, and
General Pecheux read a proclamation by the emperor, reminding us that
this was the anniversary of Marengo, that the powers were in coalition
against France, and that the hour had come for France to conquer or
perish.

It is impossible to describe the enthusiasm at this message from the
emperor; our courage was stronger, and the conscripts were even more
anxious than the veterans for the fighting to begin.

We were up at daybreak next day and on the march, eager to get a sight
of the Prussians, who had been repulsed from Charleroi by the emperor,
we were told. At the village of Chatelet we halted, and heard the noise
of firing away across the River Sambre, in the direction of Gilly. An
old bald peasant told us that evening that the Prussians had men in the
villages of Fleurus and Lambusart, that the English and Belgians were on
the great Brussels road, and that the causeway through Quatre Bras and
Ligny enabled the Prussian