THE LADIES’ MAGAZINE OF GARDENING. 
119 
fatigues of Mont St. Bernard with as good a grace as any veteran in the 
army. They were soon near the enemy, and Moustache, having become 
familiar with the sound of musketry as well as of drums, seemed to be 
inspired with new ardour as he approached the scene of action. The 
first occasion on which he distinguished himself was this :—His regiment 
being encamped on the heights above Alexandria, a detachment of 
Austrians, from the vale of Belbo, attempted a surprise during the night. 
The weather was stormy, and the French had no notion that the Austrians 
were close advancing. The camp was in danger, but Moustache was on 
the alert. Walking his rounds as usual, with his nose in the air, he soon 
detected the greasy Germans, perhaps by the smell escaping from their 
knapsacks, full of saurkraut and rancid cheese. He gave the alarm, and 
the foul feeders c fled for safety and for succour.’ Next morning it w T as 
resolved that Moustache should thenceforth receive the ration of a 
grenadier per diem. He was now’ cropped a-la-militaire , a collar with 
the name of the regiment was hung round his neck, and the barber was 
ordered to come and shave him once a week. 
“ In a skirmish which occurred, Moustache received a bayonet-wound 
in his left shoulder. He was not perfectly recovered from this accident, 
when the great battle of Marengo took place. Lame as he was, he could 
not keep away from so grand a scene. He kept close to that banner he 
had learned to recognise among a hundred, and never gave over barking- 
till the evening closed upon the combatants. The sun of Austerlitz found 
him with his chasseurs. In the heat of the action he perceived the ensign, 
who bore the colours of his regiment, surrounded by a detachment of the 
enemy. He flew to his rescue, barked with all his might, did all he 
could ; but in vain—the ensign fell, covered with a hundred wounds, but 
not before, feeling himself about to fall, he had wrapped his body in the 
folds of the standard. Five or six Austrians still remained by the ensign 
to obtain possession of the colours he had so nobly defended. Moustache, 
having thrown himself on the dead body, was on the point of being pierced 
with half-a-dozen bayonets, when a timely discharge of grape-shot swept 
the Austrians into oblivion. The moment that Moustache perceived he 
was delivered from his assailants, he took the staff of the French banner 
in his teeth, and strenuously endeavoured to disengage it, but ineffectu¬ 
ally. He succeeded, however, in tearing aw T ay the silk, and with this 
glorious trophy returned to the camp limping and bleeding. 
“ One day, a chasseur, mistaking the dog, hit him a chance-blow with 
the flat side of his sabre. Moustache, piqued to the heart, deserted from 
the regiment, attached himself to some dragoons, and followed them into 
Spain. On the 11th of March, 1811, he was killed by a cannon-ball 
