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Authors: Neil Oliver
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they commanded were a mix of Italian, German, Polish and Spanish). Vilain and Maudet were good soldiers, winning their promotions at the Battle of Magenta in 1859 during the Austro-Sardinian War. While the enlisted men had a grudging respect for Maudet, they held a seething loathing for Vilain, who, they believed, had used his position as pay officer to keep them short of money. He had a long way to go if he was to win their loyalty.
Captain Danjou was from a proud French military family. He had graduated second lieutenant from the best military academy in France, the Ecole Spéciale Militaire de Saint-Cyr, and was sent straight to French Algeria. During fighting there in May 1853, his left hand was so badly wounded it had to be amputated below the elbow. He had a fully articulated wooden replacement made and fitted, and carried on his soldiering undaunted, winning promotion to full lieutenant later the same year. He fought next in the Crimean War, seeing action at the siege of Sebastopol. His captaincy came in June 1855. Captain Danjou must have been quite dashing—even by the standards of the day when battle scars were commonplace among career soldiers. As was the custom of men of his rank, he wore a carefully maintained mustache and a thick goatee. By all accounts he was a handsome man.
Like Vilain and Maudet, Danjou fought in the Austro-Sardinian War at Magenta and at Solferino. He served then in Morocco before being sent into Mexico along with the French Expeditionary Force in 1862, when he was made Quartermaster to Colonel Jeanningros.
It was still fully dark when the little company of soldiers of the 3rd Company set out from their base in the village of Chiquihuite. Despite the stifling heat promised by the day ahead, they were dressed in their standard uniforms of knee-high black boots, baggyred woolen pantaloons and blue woolen tunics. On their heads they wore the kepis, to cover and protect their necks from the heat of the sun. Each man carried a 70-caliber smooth-bore musket.
These were men of a sort seldom seen in our world now. They were foreign to the land through which they marched, foreign to the land that sent them and foreign to one another. This was a legion of strangers, after all, and each was far from home. They had left forgotten lives many years and many miles behind them and when asked what country was home to them they would reply only, “La Légion est ma patrie”—the Legion is my country. They were hard men, hardened by drill and by battle and toughened by years of self-reliance and discipline. But what they had and held most dear was brotherhood. They depended on each other as they depended upon themselves.
As they’d prepared to leave Chiquihuite that morning, Colonel Jeanningros had wondered aloud if they were enough to protect such a valuable convoy and see it safely to Puebla.
“They are Legionnaires,” said Captain Danjou.
Out on the road he assembled his company into a defensive formation. He was at the center with a small group of men and some of the mules loaded with the ammunition and rations necessary for the journey. Two equal-sized columns of Legionnaires marched in parallel either side of—and 100 yards away from—the road. He deployed no scouts, reasoning that since his men were infantry and not cavalry, soldiers on foot would provide little in the way of early warning of attack. Better if they all stuck together. The bullion and siege equipment would depart Chiquihuite two hours later and follow the scouting company at a safe distance.
Trepidation marched along the road as well. The Legionnaires were old enough to know that word of what the convoy contained would be traveling ahead of them into the ear of the enemy. There was little doubt that a Mexican Army force would be sent to intercept them en route. It was only a question of how strong and how determined that force might be.
As Danjou and his men passed through the Legion post of Paso del Macho in the early
Captain Danjou was from a proud French military family. He had graduated second lieutenant from the best military academy in France, the Ecole Spéciale Militaire de Saint-Cyr, and was sent straight to French Algeria. During fighting there in May 1853, his left hand was so badly wounded it had to be amputated below the elbow. He had a fully articulated wooden replacement made and fitted, and carried on his soldiering undaunted, winning promotion to full lieutenant later the same year. He fought next in the Crimean War, seeing action at the siege of Sebastopol. His captaincy came in June 1855. Captain Danjou must have been quite dashing—even by the standards of the day when battle scars were commonplace among career soldiers. As was the custom of men of his rank, he wore a carefully maintained mustache and a thick goatee. By all accounts he was a handsome man.
Like Vilain and Maudet, Danjou fought in the Austro-Sardinian War at Magenta and at Solferino. He served then in Morocco before being sent into Mexico along with the French Expeditionary Force in 1862, when he was made Quartermaster to Colonel Jeanningros.
It was still fully dark when the little company of soldiers of the 3rd Company set out from their base in the village of Chiquihuite. Despite the stifling heat promised by the day ahead, they were dressed in their standard uniforms of knee-high black boots, baggyred woolen pantaloons and blue woolen tunics. On their heads they wore the kepis, to cover and protect their necks from the heat of the sun. Each man carried a 70-caliber smooth-bore musket.
These were men of a sort seldom seen in our world now. They were foreign to the land through which they marched, foreign to the land that sent them and foreign to one another. This was a legion of strangers, after all, and each was far from home. They had left forgotten lives many years and many miles behind them and when asked what country was home to them they would reply only, “La Légion est ma patrie”—the Legion is my country. They were hard men, hardened by drill and by battle and toughened by years of self-reliance and discipline. But what they had and held most dear was brotherhood. They depended on each other as they depended upon themselves.
As they’d prepared to leave Chiquihuite that morning, Colonel Jeanningros had wondered aloud if they were enough to protect such a valuable convoy and see it safely to Puebla.
“They are Legionnaires,” said Captain Danjou.
Out on the road he assembled his company into a defensive formation. He was at the center with a small group of men and some of the mules loaded with the ammunition and rations necessary for the journey. Two equal-sized columns of Legionnaires marched in parallel either side of—and 100 yards away from—the road. He deployed no scouts, reasoning that since his men were infantry and not cavalry, soldiers on foot would provide little in the way of early warning of attack. Better if they all stuck together. The bullion and siege equipment would depart Chiquihuite two hours later and follow the scouting company at a safe distance.
Trepidation marched along the road as well. The Legionnaires were old enough to know that word of what the convoy contained would be traveling ahead of them into the ear of the enemy. There was little doubt that a Mexican Army force would be sent to intercept them en route. It was only a question of how strong and how determined that force might be.
As Danjou and his men passed through the Legion post of Paso del Macho in the early
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