Instead of pushing forward
direct to the chief town of the department, the column, owing to the
inexcusable weakness and the inexperience of the improvised general who
commanded it, was now diverging to the left, making a detour which was
destined, ultimately, to lead it to destruction. It was bound for the
heights of Sainte-Roure, still about ten leagues distant, and it was
in view of this long march that it had been decided to pass through
Plassans, notwithstanding the lateness of the hour. It was now half-past
eleven.
When Monsieur Garconnet learnt that the band was in quest of provisions,
he offered his services to procure them. This functionary formed, under
very difficult circumstances, a proper estimate of the situation. Those
three thousand starving men would have to be satisfied; it would never
do for Plassans, on waking up, to find them still squatting on the
pavements; if they withdrew before daybreak they would simply have
passed through the slumbering town like an evil dream, like one of those
nightmares which depart with the arrival of dawn. And so, although he
remained a prisoner, Monsieur Garconnet, followed by two guards, went
about knocking at the bakers' doors, and had all the provisions that he
could find distributed among the insurgents.
Towards one o'clock the three thousand men began to eat, squatting on
the ground, with their weapons between their legs. The market-place
and the neighbourhood of the town-hall were turned into vast open-air
refectories.
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