Eastern High School - Punch and Judy Yearbook (Washington, DC)

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THE EASTERNER 11 “Do you remember, Denis,” exclaimed a sol- dier, also about seventeen, “do you remember the day that the Emperor passed through Cha- tillon? The bands played martial airs, and Na- poleon at the head of a small force went through the very street on which we lived. The military fervor, the love of glory, and the patriotic spirit carried us away, and with the recklessness of youth we enlisted against our parents’ advice. How it will live in my memory! Together we called on Charlotte. She seemed so beautiful that last day. It was with tears in our eyes that you and I joined our company. And before marching off our mothers embarrassed us so by asking Captain Vendrone to look out for us in the war. Then came the most glorious moment of all; when we marched away singing.” Here the soldier, whose name was Jules, com- menced singing in a rich baritone, in which he was soon joined by Denis: “Glowing with love, on fire for fame, A troubadour that hated sorrow, Beneath his lady’s window came, And thus he sang his last good morrow :— ‘My life it is my country’s right— My heart is in my true love’s bow’r; Gayly for love and fame to fight, Befits the gallant troubadour.’ ” Gradually the little company dispersed until Denis and Jules were alone. There was a pause; Denis spoke: “Tonight is my last night with you, my friend.” “Forget it, comrade. Don’t allow yourself to think of such a thing.” “Ah yes, but I feel it, and Francois told us that a soldier instinctively knows when his hour approaches.” “Denis, you can’t mean this. Think of Char- lotte and your mother and father.” “But Charlotte does not care for me, Jules. You're the only one she loves. It will be for you to make her happy.” Denis was thought- ful, then added, “Francois said that soldiers leave remembrances for their wives or sweet- hearts. Truly I worship Charlotte, but I shall do nothing to keep myself alive in her memory. However, you may take this little token of af- fection to my dear parents who will sorely miss me. Do this for me, Jules.” So saying, Denis handed his friend a ring which Jules sadly placed in his pocket. A restless night passed, in which the two boys dreamt of the days when as children they had played together in the streets of Chatillon, and how they had both courted the charming Char- lotte. On the morning of December 2, bugles blew, orders were shouted, men hustled ; some cheered, some prayed, and some were lost in a daze at the frantic confusion about them. Sev- eral shots were fired and the French officers yelled themselves hoarse in forming the battle line. The Corps of Marshal Soult was drawn up behind a ridge and some buildings, so as to be concealed from the Russians. “The Russians are giving Davoust hell on the right,” someone shouted. It could be seen that great masses of the enemy were leaving the heights of Pratzen just opposite the French position, and were hurry- ing to the French right. “Why doesn’t the Emperor help Davoust?” cried Jules to the Sergeant. “It’s a crime to see all those Russians charging a single isolated French corps with us here idle.” “The Emperor knows better what to do than you, young man,” replied the old trooper, nod- ding his head gravely. “T heard that we’re going to charge,” said Denis. The assault eschelon under Soult and Berna- dotte was now advancing from concealment into the valley and thence to the heights of Pratzen. Shots whistled in ever-increasing numbers as the two corps advanced. “Mon Dieu! We are entering a trap,” shrieked Jules. “Keep your head, you young fool,” snapped the Sergeant. “You'll unnerve the whole corps.” “We're in it now, Jules,” said Denis. The advance kept steadily onward and was now past the valley and ascending the slope on the summit of which barked a line of Russian rifles. Nearer and nearer came the French. (Continued on page 33)

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10 By H. GIFFORD [nro The setting sun of December 1, 1805, saw two lines of hostile troops drawn up on the heights near the town of Austerlitz. All knew that the morrow would see the clash of three empires—Austria and Russia on one hand, and France on the other. Many reflections of other times, of home, friends, and all that makes life precious, filled the minds of soldiers on both sides. Circled about one of the bivouac fires of the Corps of Marshal Soult of “L'Armee Fran- caise” were five men. One—a grizzled sergeant of the line with a keen, roving eye—had capti- vated the other four with a romantic tale of per- sonal daring, but which in all probability had never occurred. When he had finished with the modest admission of capturing, single-handed, two platoons of the enemy, he reclined easily against a stump and awaited the plaudits of his listeners, “You've had some thrilling experiences, Francois,” remarked a young trooper of about twenty-one, “Thrilling experiences! Why I’ve been to the very throat of hell and come back again.” And the old sergeant supplied all the necessary gestures and facial expressions to vivify his statement. All was silence for some moments when a lad of seventeen spoke up: “Sergeant, you’ve been in lots of battles and you've seen your friends fall before an enemy yn, 28 1 me, does @ soldier feel before batt). its him?” that oe ee so. I’ve had many an old “Yes, 1 come to me just before his last con campaigner Francois, take this little remem flict and ay wife and child-—‘or my sweet. brance oe tell them that I died thinking o¢ bee seems that there's always a woman hts when they are expecting to fire—tel them.’ in their thoug! out.” 2 ah you ever feel before a battle that you might be killed?” asked the lad of seventeen, whom we shall call Denis. “No, not exactly. Once, just before Ma- 1, I seemed to hesitate about fighting, It eth only time I ever felt that way. Well, tat day I came nearer to belonging to the devil than ever in my life. Old Desaix was then my commander and we were charging the Aus- As we neared their lines I ” trians. ¢ At this moment several soldiers leapt to their feet and there was much commotion at nearby camp-fires. Several officers approached, led by a short, determined-looking man whom some- one recognized. There was a shout of “Vive L’Empereur!” It was indeed Napoleon inspecting the out- posts of his army and walking in that charac- teristic pose with his hand tucked under his coat. As he came alongside the sergeant, he carefully examined the ground and ordered it to be paced off. When this was done he turned to his subordinates and remarked : “You will have a part to play here soon.” The Man of Destiny and his party passed on and the soldiers again dispersed to their several camp-fires ; some to be with their comrades for the last time. “Did you notice his attention to detail?” asked the sergeant when the five friends had re- assembled. “Nothing escapes him,” said Denis, “and somehow his personality inspires patriotic zeal in one.”

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THE EASTE 12 RNER Horses By Mary ORIE All my life I had wanted to ride horseback. There were several reasons for this desire. The society debutantes in the Sunday supple- ment look so aristocratic; riding habits do make one appear so chic; last and by far most important, how can a handsome hero rescue one from the back of a runaway horse if one never rides? Knowing these various advan- tages of the equestrian art, I determined to make the most of my opportunities at camp. Each morning at breakfast the names of those who were to ride that day were read. Finally my turn came. At the appointed time another camper and I met our one instructor with three horses. “Now you take Brownie. Follow me. We shall go to the Oval,” she said to me. I had heard much of him. He was a single-footer. However, I could count four feet—something queer. I gingerly gripped the reins and got as far away from him as possible. For some unknown reason, he seemed to develop a great fondness for my tie. He continued to eye it appreciatively and advanced toward it smilingly. Not wishing to offend him openly, I diverted his attention by throwing a stone in the bushes, meanwhile sur- teptitiously tucking my tie out of sight. At last we reached the Oval. “You will have to go on the other side to mount,” I was in- Brownie! y but suddenly, Hy, Ker, 27 : as, which would be formed. The sie Aa or in the rear of worse, to 80 eats he had no eyes in the dear Brownie! d, I decided on that as the bet- back of his veal his heels looked diabolical, ter route, altho ee papiiecelaier) (Taye eee ddle. Grippi . fry, 1 gained the saddle. Gripping With hel 4 both hands, I surveyed the sur- his mane Ger thoughtfully. The ground, see looked unnecessarily devoid of noticed sadly. ; the fray began, I am at loss to explain, without receiving the least notice, heaval beneath me. Blackie, d impolite beast, seemed to have taken the greatest ees to my steed, Brownie. Moreover, it didn’t interest him in the least to know that I was rocking desper- Brownie’s back. In fact, he seemed Ki and coldly to ignore me altogether, ee They kicked! : They kicked! They bit! I gave a last despairing cry, but to no avail. I was slipping. I had slipped. I reposed upon the hard ground beneath their raging hoofs. I gave up all hope and surren- dered to the inevitable. Help, however, ar- rived. I was rescued, but, instead of from on a horse, from under a horse. Was this the ro- mance of which I dreamed? What a ridicu- lous picture I should have made for a Sunday paper! As for looking chic—I can laugh now. My right leg had been kicked; my arms were scratched and bruised. But, worst of all, the skin had been scraped from the bridge of my nose! “Are you killed?” they inquired solicitously. I arose and replied: “I never felt better in my life. On with the fight!” The next time I rode, I chose a large, kind- looking animal named Whitie. He had such nice, understanding eyes. Alas, he understood too well! My timidity must have showed in the way I lovingly touched his brow, for no (Continued on page 32) grass, I How I felt a general up a most malicious an' ately on