batteries of field-artillery
and some squadrons of heavy dragoons; and now the whole wood, far and
near, was crammed with soldiers, waggons, caissons, and camp equipage.
To me the interest of the scene was never-ending--life, bustle, and
gaiety on every side. The reckless pleasantry of the camp, too, seemed
elevated by the warlike accompaniments of the picture--the caparisoned
horses, the brass guns, blackened on many a battlefield, the
weather-seamed faces of the hardy soldiers themselves, all conspiring to
excite a high enthusiasm for the career.

Most of the equipments were new and strange to my eyes. I had never
before seen the grenadiers of the Republican Guard, with their enormous
shakos, and their long-flapped vests, descending to the middle of the
thigh; neither had I seen the 'Hussars de la mort,' in their richly
braided uniform of black, and their long hair curled in ringlets
at either side of the face. The cuirassiers, too, with their
low cocked-hats, and straight black feathers, as well as the
'Porte-drapeaux,' whose brilliant uniforms, all slashed with gold,
seemed scarcely in keeping with yellow-topped boots; all were now seen
by me for the first time. But of all the figures which amused me most by
its singularity, was that of a woman, who, in a short frock-coat and
a low-crowned hat, carried a little barrel at her side, and led an ass
loaded with two similar but rather larger casks. Her air and gait
were perfectly soldierlike; and as she passed the different posts and
sentries, she saluted them in true military fashion. I was not long to
remain in ignorance of her vocation nor her name; for scarcely did she
pass a group without stopping to dispense a wonderful cordial that she
carried; and then I heard the familiar title of 'La Mere Madou,' uttered
in every form of panegyric.

She was a short, stoutly built figure, somewhat past the middle of life,
but without any impairment of activity in her movements. A pleasing
countenance, with good teeth, and black eyes, a merry voice, and a ready
tongue, were qualities more than sufficient to make her a favourite
with the soldiers, whom I found she had followed to more than one
battlefield.

'_Peste!_ cried an old grenadier, as he spat out the liquor on the
ground. 'This is one of those sweet things they make in Holland; it
smacks of treacle and bad lemons.'

'Ah, Grognard!' said she, laughing, 'thou art more used to corn-brandy,
with a clove of garlick in't,