remember her telling me that warfare didn't seem the life for me, yet she shall respect my decision and see me off with no anger. I, for one, was glad when I joined the legion. I was, for once, fighting for something. Living for something. For my country, truly. My country is all I had loved when I was younger, I was grown a very patriotic son. In my room alone, two flags of Austria hung. One a banner, and the other on a mounted pole.
country, truly. My country is all I had loved when I was younger, I was grown a very patriotic son. In my room alone, two flags of Austria hung. One a banner, and the other on a mounted pole.
On the Eighteenth of June, eighteen fifteen, I went to battle for the first time. I had trained for many months and joined with the six thousand other German Legionaries under the Duke of Wellington. Across the field, Napoleon's grand army stood. Four hundred of us were ordered to march to a position 'cross the field. As we were marching across the field to a farmhouse, La Haye Sainte, I got a good view of some of the men that would fire upon me. This was a frightful sight. I knew none more than to do as told, yet I thought that would be too little. I thought I would surely die on this day. After about an hour of our armies sitting and staring at one another, we realized the Russians were not going to come to our aid. Many a men began to lose hope.
Though I did begin to feel my hope perish, I stuck strong to my cause.
"Positions, men!" called our brigade officer. I hadn't a clue what my position was.
Because of this reason, I called to the brigade officer, "Sir! What is my position?"
And with this, our brigade officer told me that I would be set by the large wooden doors. The first place the French would break through our defense.
After another hour, I heard the sound of the large wooden doors breaking. I rose, making sure that my rifle was loaded, for I had not a musket and no bayonet was provided to me. I did, however, have a short arming handaxe on my side. I took this into account, and readied it. The door burst open, and I fired into the fray. My first shot, I figured was conclusive, for about half a dozen men had stormed in and it was nearly impossible to miss. I then quickly discarded my rifle in a place I could remember it, and I then pulled my handaxe. I back stepped, tripped over a hay bale. I muttered curses beneath my breath, for I could feel the pounding feet of the French and the screams of pain as men fought and died. I rolled to my left, recovered, and rose to the call to arms once more. A Frenchman had spotted me as I fell, and was waiting on the other