I can recall with what splendour the sun rose next morning above a cornfield—­it was the morning of the battle of Ligny.  Zebede and one or two comrades whom I had known in 1813 came and chattered while we lit our fires.  We could see the Prussians before us, posting themselves behind hedges and walls, and preparing to defend the villages, and all the time we were kept roasting in the corn, waiting for the signal to attack.  The emperor arrived, and held a short conference with the superior officers, and I saw him at close quarters before he rode off again to the village of Fleurus, already vacated by the Prussians.

And still we waited, though we knew the attack on St. Amand had begun.

At last came our turn to advance on Ligny.  “Forward!  Forward!” cried the officers.  “Vive l’Empereur!” we shouted.  The Prussian bullets whizzed like hail upon us, and then we could see or hear nothing till we were in the village.

No quarter was given that day; we fought in houses and gardens, in barns and lanes, with muskets and bayonets.  Those who fell were lost.  At one time fifteen of us were in possession of a barn, and the Prussians, for a time outnumbering us, drove us up a ladder.  They fired up at our floor, and finally, when it seemed we were lost, and were all to be massacred we heard the shout of “Vive l’Empereur!” and the Prussians fled.  Out of that fifteen only six were left alive, but Zebede and Buche were among the survivors.

The battle still raged in the village streets, dead and dying were everywhere.  Towards nightfall it was plain we were the victors; Ligny and St. Amand were in our hands, and the Prussians had moved away.  On the plateau behind Ligny, where our cavalry had been at work, the slaughter had been terrible.

The dozen or so remaining of our company rested for a few hours that night in the ruins of a farmhouse, and next day came the roll-call of our battalion, and the sending off of the wounded.  More than 360 of our men, including Commandant Gemeau and Captain Vidal, were disabled, and we were busy all day over the wounded.

It was wet and muddy that evening, and we were hungry and dispirited when we reached Quatre Bras, about eight o’clock.  We were not allowed to halt here, but marched on to a village called Jemappes, and at midnight we settled down in a furrow to wait for morning.

The red coats of the English were visible before us when we awoke next morning; behind their lines was the village of Mont St. Jean, and they had also the farmhouses of La Haie-Sainte and Hougomont.  At six o’clock I looked at their position, with Zebede, Captain Florentin, and Buche, and it seemed to me it was a difficult task before us.  It was Sunday, and I could hear the bells of villages, recalling Phalsbourg.  But in a very little while we heard no more bells, for at half-past eight our battalion was on its way to the high road in front, and the battle of Waterloo had begun.