Military life in Italy : sketches - Societa italiana di storia militare

DEPARTURE AND RETURN. 333
kept his childish heart. I do not say that it is from any merit
of mine ;
but nevertheless . . ."
The division has left Ferrara in the direction of Padua.
How sad it is" to march in the rain ! The
MONSELICE, . . . July.
night had already fallen, and
\ve were still four miles from Rovigo, and it was beginning lo rain by the
bucketful. In a few moments I found myself reduced to such a state that I
seemed to have taken a bath with all my clothes on ;
the water ran in rivulets
down my back and chest ; my cloak was so soaked that it was too heavy
to carry; there were inches of mud in the road; so you can picture our
condition !
In passing, we saw through the windows of the peasants' houses
'the gleam of the evening lamp," and some shadows which appeared
and then vanished. And I thought how you, when I was a child, used to
push my small bed near the window, because I liked to hear the rain
beat on the panes, and the slow, mournful whistling of the wind, put me
to sleep fancying frightful adventures of pilgrims lost in the forests,
the mysterious little lights gleaming from afar, and enchanted, hospitable
"
castles. Oh, poor boy, what a state you are in " ! you would exclaim,
clasping your hands, if I returned from school a trifle wet. Poor woman,
if
you could see me now It was a day of misfortunes. We get near Rovigo,
!
camp in a puddle, and away we start into the town. My friend and I find
a wretched little room where we can dry ourselves and rest, in the house of
an excellent family we go to bed and ; sleep all dash ;
up at nine o'clock the
next morning in order to go to the camp and start Heavenly
. . .
Powers ! I can't get into my boots I left them near the
; fire, they have
shrunk and hardened so that a child's leg could not get into them. Help
"
me, my friend, for heaven's sake ! "That I will ! he exclaims. Up go
his sleeves, and we both begin to pull, stop to take breath, and go on again
with fresh force, stop again, and try with all the strength of despair. Oh,
in vain ! The poor tormented legs relax, the exhausted arms hang down,
and our heads fall back, with our eyes starting out of their sockets, our
foreheads dripping with
" "
perspiration. There is one more thing to try
!
shouts my friend; "rip the boots. Let 's rip them then!" We seize
scissors and penknifes and fall to work. But we cannot see the stitches,
and the more we try the less we see. Our fingers are trembling, the boots
slip from our hands, my friend has cut himself, so have I too ;
and time is
flying ... " "
Ah, there are the drums ! We are lost ! The regiment
left without us, and we joined it in a carriage an hour after it had camped.
" "
What was the matter?
my friends asked. I reply by showing them my