Hundreds of French
prisoners are brought in,--many of them quite boys, and in peasants'
habits, apparently forced by cruel conscriptions to become warriors
_malgre eux_, and forming a remarkable contrast to those hardy and
athletic frames, who seem destined by nature for the military career.
Here were these poor recruits, a few weeks since dragged from their
native hearths, constrained by regal power to illustrate themselves by
the sword--when their hearts and characters were formed for domestic
cares, and those agricultural labours which sweetened their rustic
meal, and only trying to evade their direst enemy--the recruiting-sergeant
of Napoleon!
But there is another distinctive mark in those veteran French
soldiers, whom we see conveyed into Bruxelles, wounded and prisoners.
They seem to retain a ferocious expression, even at the moment of
sinking into the feebleness of death, and while every human succour is
rendering to them. They cast a furtive glance around, and their
countenances indicate all the horror of their minds at their late
reverses, and to be thinking less of the bodily pains they are
enduring, than of their incapability to revenge themselves upon their
victors! Such was the scene exhibited this morning on the steps of the
hotel opposite to my apartment.
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