On May 23 the commandant told me that I must go to Metz with the 3rd battalion, to which I belonged.  He assured me, however, that I should be kept at Metz in the workshops, and we all did our best to believe that I was fortunate in my destination.  M. Goulden, however, warned me before I left that France was threatened by her enemies, that the allies would make no peace with the emperor, but were determined to set Louis XVIII. once more on the throne, and that now the question was not 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 Prussians and English to communicate freely with each other.  He also told us that the Prussians said insulting things of the French army, and were generally hated by the people.  When I heard of the way the Prussians boasted, my blood boiled, and I said to myself, “There shall be no more compassion.  Either they or we must be utterly destroyed.”