The writing partnership of Emile Erckmann and Alexandre Chatrian was highly regarded. In common with many authors of their time they drew upon the historical events of their own century as subject matter. This inevitably included the Napoleonic era which has in recent times come once more to the fore as a popular setting for fiction. These Napoleonic novels paint a detailed picture of the events against which the story is set and are well noted for their authenticity. The authors were also well known for their ability not simply to portray events but to accurately report the attitudes of people in all classes of society at the time. This book comprises two linked novels. They chronicle the adventures a young and reluctant conscript in the French Army. In the first he is drawn towards the epic conflict of Leipzig in 1813. Recalled to the colours in the sequel, he is once more forced to march to war—this time towards the muddy battlefield of Waterloo and the destruction of an Empire in 1815.
Great masses of white smoke rose over the sides of the road. The whole hillside from Ligny to St. Amand was on fire behind the willows and aspens and poplars.<br>
As I crept up on my hands and knees, and looked over the surface of the grain and saw this terrible spectacle, and saw the long black lines of infantry on the top of the hill and near the windmills, and the innumerable cavalry on their flanks ready to fall upon us, I went back thinking:<br>
“We shall never rout that army. It fills the villages, and guards the roads, and covers the hill as far as the eye can reach, there are guns everywhere, and it is contrary to reason to persist in such an enterprise.”<br>
I was indignant and even disgusted with the generals.<br>
All this did not take ten minutes. God only knew what had become of our other two columns. The terrible musketry fire on the left, and the volleys of grape and canister which we heard rushing through the air, were no doubt intended for them.<br>
I thought we had had our full share of troubles, when Generals Gérard, Vichery, and Schoeffer came riding up at full speed on the road below us, shouting like madmen, “Forward! Forward!”<br>
They drew their swords, and there was nothing to do but go.<br>
At this moment our batteries on the road below opened their fire on Ligny, the roofs in the village tumbled, and the walls sank, and we rushed forward with the generals at our head with their swords drawn, the drums beating the charge. We shouted, “Vive l’Empereur.” The Prussian bullets swept us away by dozens, and shot fell like hail, and the drums kept up their “pan-pan-pan.” We saw nothing, heard nothing, as we crossed the orchards, nobody paid any attention to those who fell, and in two minutes after, we entered the village, broke in the doors with the butts of our muskets, while the Prussians fired upon us from the windows.<br>
It was a thousand times worse indoors, because yells of rage mingled in the uproar; we rushed into the houses with fixed bayonets and massacred each other without mercy. On every side the cry rose, “No quarter!”<br>
The Prussians who were surprised in the first houses we entered, were old soldiers and asked for nothing better. They perfectly understood what “No quarter “meant, and made a most desperate defence.<br>
As we reached the third or fourth house on a tolerably wide street on which was a church, and a little bridge farther on, the air was full of smoke from the fires caused by our bombs; great broken tiles and slate were raining down upon us, and everything roared and whistled and cracked, when Zébédé, with a terrible look in his eyes, seized me by the arm, shouting, “Come!”<br>
We rushed into a large room already filled with soldiers, on the first floor of a house; it was dark, as they had covered the windows with sacks of earth, but we could see a steep wooden stairway at one end, down which the blood was running. We heard musket-shots from above and the flashes each moment showed us five or six of our men sunk in a heap against the balustrade with their arms hanging down, and the others running over their bodies with their bayonets fixed, trying to force their way into the loft.<br>
It was horrible to see those men with their bristling moustaches, and brown cheeks, every wrinkle expressing the fury which possessed them, determined to force a passage at any cost. The sight made me furious, and I shouted, “Forward! No quarter!”<br>
If I had been near the stairway, I might have been cut to pieces in mounting, but fortunately for me, others were ahead and not one would give up his place.<br>
An old fellow, covered with wounds, succeeded in reaching the top of the stairs under the bayonets. As he gained the loft he let go his musket, and seized the balustrade with both hands. Two balls from muskets touching his breast did not make him let go his hold. Three or four others rushed up behind him striving each to be first, and leaped over the top stairs into the loft above.
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