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On one occasion, I admitted to Mademoiselle Mélissande my difficulty in building my knowledge of map-reading and higher mathematics from books alone. She told me about a teacher who lived not far from the port, a very good friend of hers, who would be able to help me. We went to visit this young man, his name was Jean Gérard, a schoolmaster in the village of St-Firmin. He was more than willing to help, and for a very particular reason: he was in love with one of our Cantinières, Mademoiselle Sylvie by name! His desire to be with her was overwhelming, and the thought of parting from her when the battery left the area was unbearable to him. He quickly agreed to enlist as a soldat; I put him in one of my gun crews. I had quickly taken a liking to Jean. He was physically rather small and slim for a gunner, but I saw that his versatile mine and wide range knowledge would be of great service to us. Topography and mathematics he knew like the back of his hand. He was fluent in German. His family had moved about a great deal during his youth, and he had lived up and down the Rhine Valley, where he could pass for a native. Latin he knew as well, little use as we might have for that (unless he needed to pass for a priest?). Jean’s skills were to prove invaluable, as I will show in future tales of our company. It is vital to know one’s way around in foreign lands, as I had learned in Italy in 1799-1800.
Meanwhile back at the tavern; the schoolmaster forced that brutish Cuirassier to speak a full apology, like a bad pupil reciting a lesson.
As Monsieur Léon picked himself up from the dust, his face scarlet with shame and rage, he said to Monsieur Gérard: “You haven’t seen the last of me!” Indeed, we were later to meet up with Roland Léon in battle. Alas, not always are those wearing the same uniform friendly!
It proved to be a busy afternoon. Shortly after we came into camp, my duty officer informed me that my presence was required at Division Headquarters without delay. As I hastened to make myself as presentable as I could, one of the Nubians came into my room; he asked me if his friend, Claude, could join the unit. The Nubians had never disappointed me yet, so I accepted this recommendation, sight unseen. I told him to see the duty officer, who would induct Claude into the Auxiliaries. This chap Claude was from Lower Egypt; he later would go on to the service of the King of Naples, in the 7th regiment of the line in that army.
The word must have been going around that I was getting a crack company together: a few minutes later another applicant arrived, a Maréchal des Logis by the name of Armand-Jean Bironand, winner of a Sabre d’ Honneur, no less! Bironand came with papers from his commandant, Chef D’Escadron Francis Ouenette of the Guard Dragoons, warmly recommending him to me: Francis wrote that “he drinks like a fish, but he is very good with the point of a saber!”
I hurried off to Division Headquarters. Once there, I was referred to Major Vincent. The Provost Marshal, it seemed, had been asking questions about a recent prison break in Montreuil; did I have any statement to make about that matter? “Ah, yes, that frightful hue and cry that erupted while the battery was on a night maneuver some time back!” I told Major Vincent, in my steadiest voice and with my most open and innocent face, that all my men and guns were accounted for. Indeed, once I had learned of the incident, I had immediately set my men to work (tired as they were!) to try to catch the Royalist scum responsible for that dreadful affair. Vincent listened, with little reaction apart from the almost imperceptible raising of an eyebrow. He informed me that Chief of Police at Montreuil might wish to question me further. How suspicious these staff officers and gendarmes can be at times!
I was thinking about my men: I knew that the uniforms that we had been issued were far too small for many of them. You see, the average Frenchmen in service to the Emperor was five foot five, but my garcons were mostly taller than that. Mademoiselle Mélissande knew of a resource that might serve: at the old Royal depot in St-Firmin there was a stock of unused Royal uniforms, white with red facings. The old Royal Guard had favored very large men, and the uniforms were proportioned to match. Such fellows now mostly gravitated to the Grenadiers, or to the Heavy Cavalry, like Monsieur Roland Léon. My guess is that Léon might once have been in the French Guards; he was arrogant enough.
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