That was
soldiering indeed.
But there came a time between Wilna and Smolensk when the
situation became impossible. Cossacks and even cold we could
fight, but we could not fight hunger as well. Food must be got
at all costs. That night Ney sent for me to the waggon in which
he slept. His great head was sunk on his hands. Mind and body
he was wearied to death.
"Colonel Gerard," said he, "things are going very badly with us.
The men are starving. We must have food at all costs."
"The horses," I suggested.
"Save your handful of cavalry; there are none left."
"The band," said I.
He laughed, even in his despair.
"Why the band?" he asked.
"Fighting men are of value."
"Good," said he. "You would play the game down to the last card
and so would I. Good, Gerard, good!"
He clasped my hand in his. "But there is one chance for us yet,
Gerard." He unhooked a lantern from the roof of the waggon and
he laid it on a map which was stretched before him. "To the
south of us," said he, "there lies the town of Minsk.
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