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In the Trenches
Alphonse de Neuville
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Pierre Junot finished the letter he had been working on for over a week. He wondered if he'd ever have the chance to post it to his fiancée, Jeanne, in far off Paris. The Army of the Loire had been shattered by the Prussians and he, along with other survivors of his regiment, had moved eastwards to join up with the Army of the East.
Their commander, Bourbaki, was a Greek according to the sergeant. He'd commanded the Imperial Guard at the beginning of the war, but with his refusal to commit the Guard at Gravelotte he was in semi-disgrace. With the capture of the Emperor at Sedan, there was no longer any need for the Guard. Bourbaki had thrown his lot in with the politician Gambetta, who had proclaimed the foundation of the Third Republic back in September.
Now they were somewhere near the Swiss border, rumors were rife that the army would march into Switzerland and lay down their arms. All Junot knew was that he was freezing and the shallow trench he and his comrades occupied barely sheltered them from the wind, let alone Prussian bullets.
Thing was, the Prussians were nowhere to be found. Scouts had gone out and made contact with the Swiss, they had reported back that the Prussians were absent.
"Probably living it up in Paris, everyone knows that the war is over." Junot muttered, half out loud, half to himself.
"What's that, Junot? You have something to offer?" Sergent Maurice Leduc snarled in his direction.
"No, Sergent, just complaining about the cold."
"Keep it to yourself, Soldat."
"Oui, mon Sergent."
Junot shook his head as he gazed out into the mist. The night was frigid and the fog had rolled in shortly after sundown. You could barely see ten meters from the trench. He remembered back to the early days of this war. Bright sunshine, warm weather, they had swept forth, intending to drive the hated Prussians back across the Rhine.
Instead they had been badly cut up, the Prussians were far more motivated and seemingly better equipped. They were certainly better led. No doubt Napoléon III's uncle the Napoléon was spinning in his grave at Les Invalides. France had seen better days, now the Prussians were getting their revenge for Jena and Auerstädt, the twin battles which had destroyed Prussia in 1806.
"Anything out there, Pierre?" Caporal Ernest Thionville asked as he handed Junot a piece of ration bread.
"Nothing that I can see. But it's quiet out there."
"Too quiet?"
Both men chuckled at the old joke. Junot chewed his bread, it was stale and was probably made partly of sawdust. They were reduced to the most basic necessities these days.
"Think we'll surrender to the Swiss, Caporal?"
"Yes, I do. We're not much of an army now, better to be interned in Switzerland than to become Prussian prisoners." Thionville, as was his habit, spat into the snow when he mentioned the Prussians. They had sacked his village and had murdered members of his family. He hated the Prussians with his entire soul.
Lieutenant Jean de Caumont cleared his throat as he approached the two soldiers chatting and eating bread. He was a polite man, he didn't want the men to be either startled by his appearance or to have them think that he was eavesdropping on them. But he had heard the mention of the surrender.
"Sir!" Both men came to attention when they saw their lieutenant.
"I think we will be going into Switzerland tomorrow. The battalion chief wants us mustered at dawn, ready to march. Apparently the Swiss have agreed to take us in until the government in Paris can decide what is to be done regarding the war."
Thionville scoffed, "What is to be done, Sir? Well, you either fight, or you surrender. Are there other options I'm not aware of? Begging your pardon, Sir, but this living in the open is getting tiresome."
De Caumont grinned, "Tell me how you really feel, Caporal. But you're right, we're accomplishing nothing here and Paris has sent no new orders."
"I've heard Swiss chocolate is good." Junot offered.
"No doubt we shall see. You two go ahead and rest, I'll take the watch for now. I can't sleep anyway."
As the two soldiers shuffled off down the trench, De Caumont sighed. What would his grandfather think of all this? His father's father had fallen in the 1815 campaign. Though he'd seen the enemy occupy Paris in 1814, he had died thinking that the Emperor would set things right. After all, his grandfather had died at Ligny, near the end of that victory, he had seen the Prussians retreating before a last cannon shot had taken his legs.
The old man had died the night before the defeat at Mont St. Jean¹, he didn't live to see the Prussians occupy Paris once more. No doubt he would be ashamed of his youngest grandson, De Caumont brushed a tear from his cheek. Of course, his grandfather would be ashamed of him, he was ashamed of himself.
Oh well, at least he had survived this debacle.
¹ Mont St Jean is what the French call the Battle of Waterloo.
