The bivouac.
--In primitive warfare armies rush to battle unencumbered with baggage, or with much breadstuff. The country through which they pass must feed them; and when night comes the ground is their bed. And it is curious to observe how the perfection of the art of arms, in modern times, causes a return to these simple practices of barbarians.As the world became civilized, armies were provided with tents. A camp is like a city of white roofs, which, as the host moves on, disappears from one valley in the morning, and re-appears in another at night, as if by magic. But it is a magic with labor in it, and is accomplished only with a large outlay of time and toil.
Napoleon, who revolutionized everything in war, revolutionized this. He left the camps and the long lines of heavy and slow moving wagons behind. His soldiers built their fires where they halted; the foragers swept the country for provisions; supper and bed were improvised beside the blaze; and in the morning, at the sound of the drum and trumpet, the army rose to its feet as one man, ready for the march. There was no camp to take care of; and the legions of the conqueror were on the enemy while he was rubbing his eyes open or cooking his breakfast.
Napoleon's innovations were imitated by the rest of Europe, and the night bivouac particularly has become the practice of all modern armies that find quick and unencumbered movements necessary or advantageous. There is something picturesque and sublime in it. The long lines of fires flickering and glowing in the night; the group of tired soldiers, their free and easy attitudes, their arms on the ground ready to be caught up at any instant; the simple fare, the men cooking their supper, the long-stretching shadows and the background of darkness — who cannot imagine all this? Then the vast multitude slumbers as one man; only the sentinels keeping watch. The trees shelter some, and some lie in blankets under the stars. And thousands all around are dreaming — some of home, some of battle and victory, some of partings that were painful, or of future meetings that shall be full of joy — till suddenly the trumpet sounds, and all that host rises from the earth, and the stern realities of the march, the fight, the terrible roar and whistle of death, take the place of dreams.
