It wasn’t just because he had recently survived a battle more bloody and hard-fought than anything he had ever imagined, or ever wanted to experience again. It wasn’t just because he had survived only through a combination of mischance, neglectful officers, and pure dumb luck. It wasn’t even just because he had never been colder, wetter, hungrier, or more miserable in his entire life, despite his deep gratitude at still being alive to suffer those miseries. No, he realized he was done with it all when he staggered back to his regiment’s baggage train, somehow managed to unearth his own rucksack from the indescribable chaos that reigned over the battlefield outside Waterloo and all the ground surrounding it, and discovered that his modest collection of personal possessions had been dropped into a river and thrown back into the wagons soaking wet. When he opened it, he almost dropped it from the stench of wet, mildewed wool and the trickle of brackish water that seeped out.
