Napoleon's way to Brussels. But the rain had come swishing down again,
and we of the 71st rushed off to our barn once more, where we had better
quarters than the greater part of our comrades, who lay stretched in the
mud with the storm beating upon them until the first peep of day.



CHAPTER XII.


THE SHADOW ON THE LAND.

It was still drizzling in the morning, with brown drifting clouds and a
damp chilly wind. It was a queer thing for me as I opened my eyes to
think that I should be in a battle that day, though none of us ever
thought it would be such a one as it proved to be. We were up and
ready, however, with the first light, and as we threw open the doors of
our barn we heard the most lovely music that I had ever listened to
playing somewhere in the distance. We all stood in clusters hearkening
to it, it was so sweet and innocent and sad-like. But our sergeant
laughed when he saw how it pleased us all.

"Them are the French bands," said he; "and if you come out here you'll
see what some of you may not live to see again."

Out we went, the beautiful music still sounding in our ears, and stood
on a rise just outside the barn. Down below at the bottom of the slope,
about half a musket-shot from us, was a snug tiled farm with a hedge and
a bit of an apple orchard. All round it a line of men in red coats and
high fur hats were working like bees, knocking holes in the wall and