with black, oily sludge, which the captain thought could be explained by the nearby coal mines and the fact that the road was used to transport the mineral. Bread was distributed, and in the village—which had been abandoned by its inhabitants—the men cooked their rice as best they could; but there wasn't enough to go around, and as for wine and brandy, the soldiers had to do without them. The day before, in fact, I Corps's supply train had been seized by a sudden panic; many drivers had fled, and many wagons had been plundered. In the midst of a surreal landscape of burst baggage and opened trunks, Captain Duthilt had found his valise, ripped open with a knife and completely empty; he had lost his gear, his papers, and the little money he possessed, and his general and the other aide found themselves in the same situation.
Captain Cotter of the Sixty-ninth Regiment, camped on the ridge behind La Haye Sainte, had given up trying to sleep. The night was too cold—a steady, frigid wind whipped the ridge—and the rain had so flooded the marshy ground that one sank ankle-deep in mud with every step; it seemed to Cotter that lying down in such a bog was out of the question. In his efforts to keep warm, the captain walked back and forth all night, examining the sky for the first signs of dawn, which with all its uncertainties would at least put an end to this particular torture. Inevitably, there came into his mind (and into the minds of who knows how many other British officers that night) the famous scene in Shakespeare's Henry V in which the two encamped armies, the night before the Battle of Agincourt, await the morning light; Captain Cotter found himself repeating, more and more nervously, the dauphin's words: "Will it never be day?"
The Second Light Battalion of the King's German Legion, stationed around La Haye Sainte farm, had a somewhat easier time of it than their comrades who were camped out in the open. The rifleman Friedrich Lindau, nonetheless, was mightily displeased with his company's assignment to the orchard, where there was nary a dry spot to be found: "It kept on raining, the orchard was full of mud, and no one was comfortable. Some leaned against a tree or part of the wall, while others sat on their knapsacks; lying down was impossible." Having heard that there was wine in the farmhouse cellar, he went down to see for himself and found a half-full bottle. He filled his canteen with its contents and went out in search of his two brothers, who were serving in other units. As soon as he reappeared, however, his comrades surrounded him and drank all his wine, and Lindau, though he descended into the cellar and refilled his canteen several times, never succeeded in his plan to share a little drink with his brothers. In compensation, all his comrades drank their fill in his company, and the wine helped them bear the night in the muddy orchard.
Not far away, the men of the Seventh Hussars were on their feet next to their horses and passing "as bad a night as I ever witnessed," as Sergeant Cotton later recalled. "We cloaked, throwing a part over the saddle, holding by the stirrup leather, to steady us if sleepy; to lie down with water running in streams under us, was not desirable, and to lie amongst the horses not altogether safe." Finally, one of the Hussars—a comrade of Cotton's, Robert Fisher, a tailor by trade— proposed that they go in search of something they could lie on. Sergeant Cotton went off and returned a little later with a bundle of leaves and stalks obtained from Mont-Saint-Jean farm. The Hussars strewed the cuttings on the ground and lay down on their improvised bed. "The poor tailor," Cotton reported, "had his thread of life snapped short on the following day."
Major Trefcon, chief of staff in a division of the French II Corps, spent a large part of the night sheltered from the rain in an abandoned barn while working with his commander, General Bachelu. The two men received reports from
Captain Cotter of the Sixty-ninth Regiment, camped on the ridge behind La Haye Sainte, had given up trying to sleep. The night was too cold—a steady, frigid wind whipped the ridge—and the rain had so flooded the marshy ground that one sank ankle-deep in mud with every step; it seemed to Cotter that lying down in such a bog was out of the question. In his efforts to keep warm, the captain walked back and forth all night, examining the sky for the first signs of dawn, which with all its uncertainties would at least put an end to this particular torture. Inevitably, there came into his mind (and into the minds of who knows how many other British officers that night) the famous scene in Shakespeare's Henry V in which the two encamped armies, the night before the Battle of Agincourt, await the morning light; Captain Cotter found himself repeating, more and more nervously, the dauphin's words: "Will it never be day?"
The Second Light Battalion of the King's German Legion, stationed around La Haye Sainte farm, had a somewhat easier time of it than their comrades who were camped out in the open. The rifleman Friedrich Lindau, nonetheless, was mightily displeased with his company's assignment to the orchard, where there was nary a dry spot to be found: "It kept on raining, the orchard was full of mud, and no one was comfortable. Some leaned against a tree or part of the wall, while others sat on their knapsacks; lying down was impossible." Having heard that there was wine in the farmhouse cellar, he went down to see for himself and found a half-full bottle. He filled his canteen with its contents and went out in search of his two brothers, who were serving in other units. As soon as he reappeared, however, his comrades surrounded him and drank all his wine, and Lindau, though he descended into the cellar and refilled his canteen several times, never succeeded in his plan to share a little drink with his brothers. In compensation, all his comrades drank their fill in his company, and the wine helped them bear the night in the muddy orchard.
Not far away, the men of the Seventh Hussars were on their feet next to their horses and passing "as bad a night as I ever witnessed," as Sergeant Cotton later recalled. "We cloaked, throwing a part over the saddle, holding by the stirrup leather, to steady us if sleepy; to lie down with water running in streams under us, was not desirable, and to lie amongst the horses not altogether safe." Finally, one of the Hussars—a comrade of Cotton's, Robert Fisher, a tailor by trade— proposed that they go in search of something they could lie on. Sergeant Cotton went off and returned a little later with a bundle of leaves and stalks obtained from Mont-Saint-Jean farm. The Hussars strewed the cuttings on the ground and lay down on their improvised bed. "The poor tailor," Cotton reported, "had his thread of life snapped short on the following day."
Major Trefcon, chief of staff in a division of the French II Corps, spent a large part of the night sheltered from the rain in an abandoned barn while working with his commander, General Bachelu. The two men received reports from
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