For ten hours we were detained by a
detachment of the blues at the little town of Nort, and though we
carried it at last, without losing many of our men, the loss of the
precious hours was very grievous. We pushed on to Nantes, however,
without losing another minute, and though we found the rebels ready to
receive us, they could not hold their ground against us at all. We drove
them from the town in every direction. We were already in the chief
square of Nantes, assured of our victory, and leading our men to one
last attack, when a musket ball struck Cathelineau on the arm, and
passing through the flesh entered his breast. He was on foot, in front
of the brave peasants whom he was leading, and they all saw him fall.
Oh, M. de Lescure, if you had heard the groan, the long wail of grief,
which his poor followers from St. Florent uttered, when they saw their
sainted leader fall before them, your ears would never forget the sound.
We raised him up between us, and carried him back to a part of the town
which was in our hands, and from thence over the Pont Rousseau to
Pirmil, where I left him for a while, and returned to the town, but I
could not get the peasants to follow me again--that is, his peasants;
and he was too weak to speak to them himself.
Pages:
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404